


Black Flags and Black Sails

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Pirates, Pirates AU, sansa x sandor - Freeform, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: "Pirate's in your blood boy."Sansa Stark reads the heroic and romantic stories of pirates, dreaming of a life in which she is the hero of the story. But she's the governor's daughter, soon to be engaged and married and forgotten to the tides of time. Unless those storied pirates come for the only thing she holds dear - the memory of her first love, Sandor Clegane.POTC inspired Sansan.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 346
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the nonsense friends! In these times of deep sadness (and boredom) let's have some pirates.

Sansa couldn’t find her favorite book. She was absolutely sure that her little sister Arya had stolen it, but she had no proof yet. And if there was one thing her father did not tolerate, it was unfounded accusations. Especially amongst his children. Sansa yanked open all the drawers in their small, cramped cabin, looked beneath the blankets and pillows in their bunks, and even went so far as to rummage through the messy trunk of Arya’s clothes. She turned up nothing. 

She could always go to the upper deck, track down her sister, and calmly ask for her book back. But with Sansa’s luck, Arya would have left it high up in the crows nest, or dropped it into the water, or left it somewhere one of the sailors might have chanced upon it. Arya was careless, and saw the entire ship as her personal stomping grounds. She went places Sansa never would have dared, bold as brass. 

Sansa just wanted her book back. It was the best, the one that told about romantic tales of pirates and princesses, sailing off into the sunset. She’d already read it thrice over during their journey to their new home in the recently conquered isles, but it was such a nice day out, she wanted to sit upon the deck and imagine it was her being whisked off on an adventure by a handsome pirate. She sighed, hands on her hips, and decided to ask Arya. Maybe she would be lucky, and her sister would remember where the book was. 

“Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me….” she sang quietly as she ascended the steps, holding carefully to the rough wooden rail. The men didn’t like when she sang such songs, but Sansa was certain pirates were nothing to fear. They stole gold and maidens fair, surely, but only from bad men. Sansa half wished they would steal her away. 

She stepped up into the sunlight, squinting for a moment as her eyes readjusted from the gloom of below. All around her, sailors shouted orders at each other from the rigging and walked past her, hardly taking notice of her anymore. She craned her neck, searching, then made her way to midship. 

“Sansa, where were you?” Nanny Mordane looked down at her critically when Sansa came upon her siblings. Robb, her elder brother, and Jon, her orphaned cousin, were playing with swords on the deck while some off duty men shouted tips and tricks at them. Arya and Bran, her younger brother, were nowhere to be found, but Rickon, the youngest of them, was on the nanny’s hip. 

“Looking for my book,” Sansa said gracefully, folding her hands primly in front of herself like her old governess had taught her before they’d moved. She was not Arya, losing her manners after five minutes out of sight of land. “Perhaps you have seen it?” 

“I have not.” Nanny Mordane sniffed. “Did Arya take it? 

“I had meant to ask. Would you know where she might be?” Sansa asked politely and the nanny shifted Rickon higher on her hip. He was fussing, reaching for Sansa, but the nanny had an ironclad grip on him. Not yet two, both Nanny and Sansa had a fear that he was going to wander off the deck one day and right into the ocean. 

“I certainly do not. Your father has given me six children to mind, and each more willful than the last. Each of you is a test within your own self, and I….”

Sansa, well accustomed to the rants her nanny was given to going on, carefully stepped away. She knew it was because her father had ordered their whole household be uprooted upon her mother’s death. No one wanted to leave Westeros, but Lord Stark went where his good King Robert commanded him, and that was taking up a lordship to rule in one of the many isles. Winterfell Castle had been home to Sansa her whole life, but now it seemed they would go off to King's Landing, and rule where King Robert could not. 

When a circuit of the ship didn’t turn up her sister, she gave up her book as a lost cause, and went to the bow of the ship. It was there she liked best, watching the water glide beneath the ship, splitting apart. Once, she had glimpsed whales and dolphins alike, and laughed in delight at them. It was a good, contemplative spot. She was almost a woman now and had a great many things to think over. 

She could still hear Robb and Jon behind her. Doubtless Arya and Bran were monkeying through the rigging. With Nanny Mordane trying her best to make sure Rickon didn’t fall off the ship and their lord father utterly distracted by his duties and his grief, there was little time for someone to chase down Arya and Bran. It was best just to let them climb, and scold them on occasion.They were determined not to listen to their big sister. 

“Yo ho, yo ho a pirate’s life for me….” Sansa sang softly, frowning. They seemed to be sailing through mist or fog, or perhaps smoke. The nice weather from the morning had disappeared and the air around them grew hazy. Sansa heard the men in the rigging yelling things, but as they slipped further into the fog, their voices became disconnected from their bodies, strange and foreign sounding. She squinted into the fog, trying to see what was ahead. “Drink up me hearties, yo ho….” 

A hand on her shoulder made her gasp. She whirled around with a racing heart, looking at the man who’d grabbed her. It was one of the older sailors, Mr. Davos. His grizzled beard and eyes were grey, and he was looking out across the horizon, rather than down at her, the lines in his tanned face even deeper than usual. He too, seemed to be searching for something in the water. 

“Quiet missy,” he ordered, voice harsh. “Cursed pirates sail these waters and you don’t want to bring them down upon us, do you?” 

“Mr. Davos, that will do,” a strong voice ordered from behind him. Davos straightened up instantly. Theon Greyjoy stood beside her father, his face stern. It wasn’t Theon that scared Sansa; she’d known him since she was young. It was the anger in his eyes, directed at the sailor beside her. 

“She was singing about pirates,” Davos warned him, and Sansa tried her best to fold her hands and be a polite, good lady. Ladies didn’t sing about pirates, she’d been told that by her nanny, her father, Theon, even Arya. But she couldn’t stop. “Bad luck to be singing about pirates in this unnatural fog, mark my words.” 

“Consider them marked,” Theon said curtly. “On your way.” 

“Aye.” Davos bowed his head and was gone, muttering all the way. 

“I think it’d be rather exciting to meet a pirate,” Sansa ventured carefully, thinking of her books and stories. She couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to think them so frightful, not when they had such grand adventures. 

“Think again, Miss Stark.” Theon had almost a smile on his face as he joined her at the rail. “Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them. I intend to see to it that any man that sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves.” 

“I don’t….” Sansa trailed off, unsure of what he meant, so Theon turned to her with a wane smile. 

“A short drop and a sudden stop,” he explained. Sansa blinked, confused, but behind Theon’s back, Davos mimed a man being hanged and Sansa couldn’t help her little gasp of horror. She turned to look at Theon in confusion. Surely they didn’t hang all pirates, especially not the good ones. Her father would never allow such a thing.

“Lord Greyjoy, I appreciate your fervor, but I’m concerned about the effect this subject might have upon my daughter,” Ned Stark interrupted quickly. 

“My apologies, Lord Stark,” Theon said stiffly, before dismissing himself. Ned came alongside Sansa, looking at her quizzically, his bushy eyebrows furrowed and concern in his manner. Sansa had noticed that lately he seemed to have more gray in his hair than before. Out here on the sea he still dressed like a fine lord would, but it was in plainer clothes. Worst of all were his eyes, that no longer lit up with happiness. 

“Actually, I find this all fascinating,” Sansa told her father brightly, who gave a tiny sigh, bowing his head. 

“Yes, that’s what concerns me,” he replied rather dryly. “Don’t make me worry about you as much as I worry about your siblings, please, Sansa dear.” 

When she was silent, Ned nodded and walked away. He mistook her silence for obedience. He didn’t see the anger in it. She was always the child to behave. Jon was just a cousin, and Robb was her father’s firstborn son. Arya and Bran could be as wild as wolves and her father wouldn’t have taken notice. But Sansa was expected to be her missing mother, a lady in miniature. She was demanded to be perfect. 

She turned back to the water and the unyielding fog to distract herself, wondering what she might see in it. Perhaps dolphins like she had last week. A parasol floated by, a delicate thing that a lady might carry. Sansa blinked several times, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Then, other bits of debris went by, chunks of wood and other broken detritus. Sansa leaned out over the rail, wondering where such things came from. 

Suddenly, a large piece of wood came into view from the edge of the fog, and there upon it was a doll. Sansa was wondering what sort of doll was so big, and dressed so shabbily, when she realized that it wasn’t a child’s toy, but a real human, a young boy marooned upon the broken wood.

“Look, there’s a boy, there’s a boy in the water!” she shouted in alarm and both her father and Theon rushed to the rail. 

“Man overboard!” Theon bellowed, and around her the deck sprang to life. Theon was yelling orders at the men, and Sansa tried to stay out of the way, but she couldn’t help herself as she inched closer still to see what was going on. It was Davos who finally hooked the boy and drew him up onto the deck of their ship. Theon knelt over him and when Davos straightened up, it was he who saw where Sansa’s attention had gone. 

“Mary, mother of God….” he muttered, staring out. Off the starboard side, a fire burned above the water, the ship’s hull and mast the only thing left floating, smoke making Sansa’s eyes sting and her lungs ache. It wouldn’t be there for much longer, Sansa realized, watching in horror as the sails burned and sank. Beneath them, the Union Jack rippled under the waves in a macabre fashion. 

“What happened here?” she heard her father's horrified question, and Theon’s terse reply. 

“Most likely a power magazine. Merchant ships run heavily armed.” 

“Lot of good it did them.” Davos seemed to forget Theon’s earlier orders, watching the ship with dark eyes. “Everyone’s thinking it, I’m just saying it. Pirates.” 

Sansa’s blood ran cold. This was not what pirates did. There had to be men on that ship, who crewed and sailed her. Where were they, if not in the water like the boy? She couldn’t bear to think what must have happened here, for an entire ship to be burning. 

“There’s no proof of that,” Ned dismissed, as Jon and Robb shoved past her to see. “It could be an accident.” 

Sansa had had enough of the burning ship. It held no interest for her anymore. She turned away from the rail and went back to where the boy they had brought in lay almost forgotten. She heard Theon’s voice behind her, but she stared down at the wet boy in something like fascination. His thin chest was rising and falling shallowly. He had dark hair, and a fresh burn that covered part of his face. Sansa imagined it had to be incredibly painful. 

“Sansa.” her father’s voice behind her startled her; she looked up into his ashen face. “I want you to accompany the boy. He’ll be in your charge. Take care of him?” she nodded and he sent her on her way, following the men that brought him safely away from the action, yelling for the doctor that was somewhere below decks. 

Sansa stood over him, a queer sensation in her chest. Her hand reached out of its own accord, to brush away the hair from the unburned side of his face. He was dressed like a common boy, his clothes crude and plain, yet a beaten gold chain lay around his neck. She barely touched his hair when he woke, gasping, and caught her wrist in a grip so tight it hurt. 

“It’s alright,” she tried to soothe him, as fear and pain made his eyes wild. He stared up at her with terror, so she did her best to appear as non threatening as she could, face softening. “My name’s Sansa Stark.” 

“Sandor Clegane,” he stammered and Sansa gave him a little smile. 

“I’m watching over you, Sandor,” she promised gently and his eyes rolled back from the pain, and he was gone again. Sansa, unable to help herself, reached down for the medallion that poked out from his collar. When she brought it completely into the light, she instantly wished she hadn’t done so. 

On it was a terrible skull, etched into the gold, with strange runes and sharp points. It was heavy in her hands, and oddly cold, though by rights it should have been warm from the burning boat and Sandor’s body. She stared down at it, sick yet thrilled at the thought she might have stumbled into the stories she loved so dearly. The accusation came to her lips without thought, the words making her lips numb. “You’re a pirate!” 

“Has he said anything?” Theon demanded from behind her, and Sansa whirled around, hiding the medallion in her hands. 

“His name’s Sandor Clegane,” she told him quickly, trying not to show him how scared she was and Theon nodded, moving aside as the doctor rushed over from below. “That’s all I found out.” the medallion made her hands cold and the lie heavy. 

“Take him below,” Theon ordered the doctor, who nodded. Sansa moved aside for the men to do so, forgotten in the madness. She edged to the rail, and once she could no longer see her father or Theon, she peeked down at the medallion she’d taken from Sandor. The skull remained unchanged, smiling up at her in a menacing sort of way. She held it up, trying to see it better, when the fog shifted, and then it was there. 

A terrible ship, with ripped black sails and a black flag. A black flag with a skull and swords, rippling in the wind. Sansa’s eyes grew huge. Only pirate ships sailed under black flags and black sails. For a moment she feared the ship would turn to them, but then she blinked and it was gone again, the fog clouded where it was. Her heart was pounding, but she quickly dismissed it. She was not a baby like Bran or Rickon. She was being foolish. There was no ship and Sandor was no pirate. She was just acting like she was in one of those stories that she read so much.

Still, she took care to hide the medallion in the doll her father had gotten her for the journey, forgetting she no longer played with such things, and stitched the doll back up before placing it on her bunk. Then she put pirates from her mind and went to see to her charge. She was a grown lady now. 

It took three whole days for Sandor to awaken again. The doctor wasn’t sure he ever would, but this was Sansa’s first patient and she was determined not to lose him. She fetched him water, helped change his bandages, and sang and read to him at night. Arya and Bran had no interest in the sickbay, nor did Robb and Jon. Nanny Mordane was just glad that she wasn’t the one who had to watch over him, so Sansa was left to keep her steadfast vigil over him until he came back to them. 

“Water….” the rasping voice asked, nearly making her jump. She turned in alarm, but then quickly sagged in relief when she saw it was Sandor struggling to sit up on the narrow cot he’d been placed on. 

“No, stay still,” she ordered, trying to seem like she knew what she was doing and rushing to get him a glass. “I’ll bring it to you. Don’t try to sit up, Sandor.” 

“Why can’t I see?” he demanded, panic in his voice.

“It’s just a bandage,” Sansa reassured him. “You were burned on your face, when the ship exploded. At least, that’s what they think.” she was parroting the lines the doctor and her father had said. A large white bandage covered most of his face. She’d helped change them and she knew what lay below. 

“My face?” he asked with horror and Sansa knelt beside him with the water, gently taking his hand. 

“It’s alright,” she promised soothingly, rising. “Drink this and I’ll go get the doctor. He’ll want to know that you’re awake.”

“Who are you?” he asked in bewilderment and Sansa paused, looking back at him. He was holding the water, looking a bit forlorn on the cot. Her heart squeezed tighter at the sight of him. He was hers, rather like how Rickon or Bran was. But in an entirely different way at the same time. 

“Sansa, Sansa Stark,” she told him again, trying to be as graceful and propers as ladies should be. “I’m the one who’s been watching over you.” 

“Oh.” he relaxed back into the pillows and drank, while Sansa went to get the doctor. She anxiously listened as he gave Sandor a clean bill of health, minus the scar on his face, and declared that Sansa would be his companion for the remainder of the trip. Sansa didn’t mind; she was often the odd one out amongst her siblings it seemed. Sandor promised to be better company than Arya or her brothers. 

“There. Are you feeling any better?” she asked him one day, as she finished spooning him his food. 

“I can feed myself you know,” he said, a bit sullenly. 

“Doctor Luwin says you’re not to though. Not until the bandage comes off your face. Then you can have solid foods again, when the burn isn’t so bad,” she reminded him briskly, placing the dirty dishes off to the side to be sent off.

“The burn is awful. I’m never going to heal,” he muttered and Sansa took his hands, giving them a squeeze. Ever since Sandor had glimpsed himself in the mirror while his bandages were being changed, he had become convinced of his ugliness. She did not think it was bad at all; he was still handsome with his quick grey eyes and dark hair. 

“You’ll heal,” Sansa stated firmly, “you will. Doctor Luwin says it’s not bad, and now that you’re not in so much pain, he’s going to start treating it.” 

“Your brother started crying when he saw me without my bandage.” Sandor scowled and Sansa rolled her eyes. 

“Rickon is a baby, he cries at everything. I told Arya not to bring him here, it was wrong and cruel of her.” 

“People are always going to laugh at me. I’m a freak. A monster,” Sandor lamented. Sansa opened her mouth to accuse him of something, but she snapped her mouth shut at the last moment. She hadn’t forgotten that ship she’d seen in the fog, nor the medallion she’d found around his neck. 

“No, they will not,” she declared instead, fixing his blankets. She was proud that her voice didn’t tremble. Sandor looked at her with his one grey eye, skeptical. “I won’t let them.” 

“What will you do?” he asked her, a tiny note of hope in his voice. 

“I will tell them not to,” she said matter of factly, then gave him a little smile. “I’m a lady. They have to listen to me.” 

“You’re a lady?” he asked her, and Sansa looked down at her dress. It was a pretty thing, one she’d sewn herself. It was from the finest blue pattern her father could find. Surely where Sandor was from, ladies wore such things. Then there was her hair, which she arranged every day and then tried to do the same to Arya.

“I thought you knew,” she responded, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Was there ever any question about it, with her gentle manners and her fine upbringing? Her father and Nanny Mordane both said that she had all the hallmarks of a great lady, and that she took after her lady mother. “My father is going to be the governor at Kings Landing when we arrive, and I will be the lady of the house.” 

“No,” he said quietly, now looking off distantly, “no, I didn’t know.” 

“Well, no matter.” Sansa did her best to brush off any misgivings she had. Her father had promised them all a new beginning in the isles. “You’re my charge. I intend to see that you get better before we arrive.” 

The rest of the journey was spent with him. Sometimes they had a delightful time, playing cards, reading, or drawing. Sansa taught him the few plays she knew, making him laugh or scowl depending on the roles she forced him to play. She always kept pirates far from conversation. They would walk the deck, Sansa holding tight to his arm to make sure he didn’t fall. She made certain none of her siblings said anything to upset him, and twisted Arya’s ear when she nearly did. 

Occasionally, Sandor would be laughing alongside her and then abruptly go silent, turning solemn and surly with nothing more than the apparent drop of a hat. He would go from calling her Sansa and teasing her with the nickname of Little Bird to calling her Miss Stark and stiffly adhering to politeness. Sansa hated those moments, but she learned to let them pass. Sandor was injured and he was the only survivor of a terrible accident. He had more secrets, she imagined at night as she held the doll and what was hidden within the fabric. She didn’t push him. 

They sailed into Kings Landing during the late hours of the night. Sansa was awoken before dawn by Nanny Modane and pulled from her bunk, bleary eyed and sleepy. So she had arrived at her new home. She went to help her younger brothers pull on their clothes. Though it was nighttime and dark, the air was humid and she felt herself start to sweat. 

They departed the ship just as the sun was beginning to come up and she stared up at the island, trying to get a grasp of her new home. The solid land beneath her feet felt strange, like it was still rocking, and she stumbled several times before Jon caught her elbow and steadied her steps up the rest of the dock. They were nearly to a carriage when Sansa stopped, looking about wildly. 

“What is it?” Robb asked her in concern as she scanned the men following them and loading their trunks into a wagon. “Father won’t let them forget your dresses Sansa, not when he’s spent a fortune on them.”

“Sandor. Where’s Sandor?” she demanded, looking for him and ignoring Robb’s other comments. Surely he’d be coming with them. His face still wasn’t completely healed and she had to make sure that he actually ate something, since he was prone to ignoring food unless forced. She had to see to him. 

“The burned boy? The one they found in the wreckage?” Davos grunted as he loaded Sansa’s trunk. “You think the likes of him will go with your family?” 

“I thought…” Sansa turned to her father, who was holding a sleeping Rickon and looking rather peeved at her, grey hair tied back and rather askew. 

“I’ve arranged for him to learn a trade,” he told her and Sansa frowned at him. “He’ll be well taken care of.” 

“I took care of him,” Sansa protested adamantly. “I thought that was my job. That he would come with us.” 

“You did a fine job,” Ned tried to reassure her. “Doctor Luwin was most impressed. But Sansa, he’s an orphaned boy. Why on earth would he come with us?” 

“I want to say goodbye,” Sansa demanded and Nanny Mordane, shepherding Bran and Arya into the carriage, snorted. 

“Goodbye, to a common boy?” 

“Sansa!” her father’s voice was as sharp as a whip in the early dawn. “Get in the carriage. I do not have time for your childish tantrums right now.” 

“I….” Sansa went to protest, but trailed off. She looked around again, but there was no one to support her. Arya and Bran were half asleep still and Robb was already impatiently looking for their new home amongst the cliffs.With a heavy sigh she couldn’t stop she extended her hand and Jon helped her into the carriage. 

She kept the ship in her sight for as long as she could, even as it faded away, and her thoughts remained with Sandor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please, please, please if you enjoyed, leave a review! It does wonders. 
> 
> blessings everyone. stay sane. stay healthy!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys rock- i am so encouraged by the reviews and support. thank you!!

She only glimpsed Sandor over the next half dozen years. He became a blacksmith, she became the governor's perfect daughter. She was of high society and he of the lower class. His scar remained, and so did his distance with her. Sansa thought of him often, and the days they had shared on the ship, the last time she remembered being happy and free, a girl who read daring stories of pirates and cared for a boy. 

She was dreaming now, she knew she was. She dreamt of this moment often enough. She was small, back aboard the ship. The ship that had carried them over from the north, to her new home. The fog was thick and dense around her, and when she looked into it, she knew what she’d see. She couldn’t feel the cold in her dream, but she remembered it. She remembered the smoke. 

Sandor was there, amongst the water. She kept watching as he was brought aboard, and floated like a ghost over to him. But it wasn’t him that kept her attention; this part of her dream was nothing more than memory. The true moment was yet to come, the part that she dreaded and needed in equal measure. When the medallion was chilled and heavy in her hands, she looked up at the horizon. 

There was the ship, same as it had been all those years ago. Black flags, black sails, dark and deadly. But this time, instead of turning and disappearing into the mist, it sailed for them, coming closer. A deep sense of dread twisted itself up throughout her bones but still Sansa waited, watched, willed herself to see, and when it was nearly close enough for her to read the name painted on the hull, she was wrenched from sleep. 

She sat straight in bed, gasping. Her heart was pounding, but she was safe amongst the four cornered bed in her father’s mansion. Safe, in the home she’d been in since she’d arrived in Kings Landing. Since she’d saved Sandor, seen the pirate ship, and kept her greatest secret. She was Sansa Stark, but for a moment on the ship she’d been something more.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. It was all a dream. She’d been a young girl then, prone to flights of fancy. She hadn’t really seen a pirate ship or she would remember. Someone else would have seen it. Sandor would have told her about it, she knew that. It was all a dream, except for the parts that seemed so very real. 

Something in her possessed her to rise and go to the doll she had propped up next to her vanity. No one understood why she’d kept, but Sansa claimed sentimentality and they all left it. She only thought of it occasionally, when her thoughts drifted to her mother, to the crossing, and then to Sandor. 

This morning she delicately undid the loose stitches she’d done as a girl and reached inside carefully. There was the medallion, as menacing and foreboding as it had been when she’d taken it from Sandor’s neck. It was real, no matter what else she’d dreamed that day. She turned it over in the pale light, the skull gleaming it’s cruel smile up at her and had to stifle a scream when there was a sudden, booming knock on the door. 

“Sansa? Is everything alright? Are you decent?” her father’s strong voice came through the thick door like he was standing beside her and Sansa hastily threw the necklace on, snatching her robe up from the end of the bed. 

“Yes-- Yes!” she frantically tied it around herself and threw the doll back in its place. 

“Still abed at this hour?” her father entered, eyebrows raised at her state. He was already dressed and ready for the day. Sansa gave him what she hoped was a wane smile. He was followed by her maids, carrying a large box. “It’s a beautiful day.” 

“Oh.” Sansa winced when the curtain was thrown back and bright sunlight streamed in. She’d been in Kings Landing for several years now, yet she would never quite be accustomed to the heat and sunshine that shone down so early most mornings. She gave her father a little smile, wondering what brought him to her and so early at that.

“I have a gift for you.” he smiled brightly at her as Shae presented her with a large box. Sansa glanced at her father, slightly bemused by this offering. He wasn’t one for gifts that were not for special occasions, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain about it. 

Carefully, she removed the bow and lifted the top, gasping when she saw what lay beneath. Nestled neatly and folded was a finely made dress of cream and gold silk. The bodice had tiny pearls on it, and delicate white lace on it’s edges. It was the prettiest dress she’d ever seen. Sansa couldn’t help but reach out and gently touch it. 

“It’s beautiful.” with absolute care not to wrinkle it, she removed it from its box and beamed at her father. He smiled back, his grey eyes crinkling with true happiness for a moment. Sansa paused, raising an eyebrow. While her father was not one to try to spoil his children, this sort of dress was beyond anything she’d expect for a birthday. There must have been a reason. “May I enquire as to the occasion?” 

“Is an occasion necessary for a father to dote upon one of his daughters with gifts?” he responded and Sansa had to give him a baleful look. 

“Hope you didn’t get Arya one to match.” 

“She’d be happier with a sword, surely,” he agreed and Sansa laughed as she ducked to change. Shae came with her, ready to lace her up. “Although…. I did think you could wear it to the ceremony today.” **  
**

“Ceremony?” Sansa asked with a hint of confusion, letting Shae assist her in donning the heavy gown.

“Captain Greyjoy’s promotion ceremony,” her father reminded her and Sansa suppressed a groan. **  
**

“I knew it,” she accused him. He seemingly ignored her, looking out the window and continuing his thought.

  
  
“Or, rather, Commodore Greyjoy…. A fine gentleman, don't you think?” he paused, but Sansa was in no mood to answer him. “He fancies you, you know.”  
  


Sansa did know. Theon Greyjoy had been close to her father since the crossing. He’d been as much her brother as Robb or Jon, but with none of the teasing and good humor. She’d suspected since she was old enough to understand such matters that she would marry him, though she’d never felt any romantic feelings towards him. Still, it was a match her father and Robb supported. The only one who had any sense to see Theon for a terrible husband for her was Arya.

“Oh!” she gasped when Shae pulled the laces on the new corset tight. It was stricter than the ones Sansa was used to, the straits constricting her and making her waist far tinier than it normally was.  
  


“Sansa? How's it coming?” her father asked with the barest hint of worry.  
  


“Difficult to say,” Sansa told him, wincing as Shae did the laces higher and higher up her back. She hoped, for the maid’s sake, that her father wouldn’t force Arya into such a thing. Someone would lose a hand.  
  
“I'm told that dress is the very latest fashion in Westeros,” he said, almost hopefully and Sansa tried to take a breath and failed.  
  


“Women in Westeros must have learned not to breathe,” she remarked tightly, bracing herself as Shae continued to lace her in, each tug making it worse. “I wouldn’t send such a dress to Arya, father.”  
  


“But I’m sure you look lovely,” he answered, before Sansa heard the calm voice of Jory, their butler.  
  


“Governor? A caller is here for you.” 

“I’ll see you downstairs. Make sure your siblings are in order, please,” her father requested and departed. Sansa let Shae finish dressing her, trying to figure out the correct depths from which she could breathe. It seemed best to not try at all. 

The dress was stunning, but it fell heavy on her shoulders. She glanced at the window, realizing how hot it was likely to be. The thought was already giving her a headache, but there was little she could do about it now. She had a duty to do. Once she was dressed, she went to Arya’s room, maids trailing her. 

“Arya,” she said, opening the curtains while the maids went to ready the rest of the room. The form in the bed stirred with a groan, but her little sister didn’t emerge. “Arya, up. Father has decided we’re to go to Theon Greyjoy’s ceremony today.” 

“Go without me.” Arya burrowed further into her covers. “I don’t want to get up and be a lady today.” 

“And I would like to breathe,” Sansa declared, pulling Arya’s sheet back. Her little sister looked up at her, confused. “But we all make sacrifices.”

“Can you not breathe?” for a second, Sansa saw a flicker of concern in Arya’s grey eyes. Though she and her sister still disagreed on nearly everything, nearly every day, there were brief moments where Sansa thought that perhaps one day they would truly be close.

“Not in this contraption. Newfangled torture device, all the way from Westeros. Courtesy of father.” she gave Arya a wry smile. 

“Very pretty.” Arya looked her up and down, then frowned. “But you look tiny.” 

“There hence comes my breathing difficulty,” Sansa explained, trying not to place one hand to her constricted ribs. “Up, please. A nice dress. Don’t fight with me today. It’s going to be a battle enough.” 

“Do you think today is the day?” Arya asked carefully, sitting up. Sansa pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to stop racing. 

“I don’t think it’s not,” she responded and to her surprise Arya rested a hand on her arm and gave her a sad smile. Sansa responded in kind, then brushed her hands off and went to wake Bran and Rickon. 

Shae finished Sansa’s hair and makeup, winding her auburn curls up and securing a fashionable hat. Sansa watched herself in the mirror, transforming into a lady. She itched to reach up and touch the medallion nestled between her breasts. Folly had made her reach for it this morning, but she couldn’t remove it, not with Shae here. 

“Would my lady like for me to fetch her jewelry?” Shae asked and Sansa nodded, her fingers brushing the chain. The medallion always felt so cold. She would keep it hidden, just for today. Just for a moment. She would wear it for the last time, to honor the little girl who’d dreamt of pirates and grand adventures before she resigned herself to the life of Mrs. Commodore Greyjoy. 

“My pearl choker, please Shae, if you will,” she requested. 

“Of course.” Shae pulled several jewels out for Sansa for her inspection. She finished getting ready and once she was done, rose gracefully. “You look beautiful my lady. Every bit of your father’s daughter.” 

“Thank you Shae,” Sansa said quietly, while the cold metal pressed against her skin; the skull was against her breastbone. Just for today, for the girl who still believed in fairy tales, she thought sadly. Then she went to face the day. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sandor Clegane stood amongst the lobby of the governor’s mansion, wondering when it was the last time he was here. He must have been a child, no more than a lad. Here for a garden party or something of the sort when his master had been civil enough to still attend them. He’d seen Sansa that night, for whatever reason. He could always remember her the clearest. Her smile. Her hair. Her laugh. Her in general. 

The early memories were the most vivid. Her, in a ship, tending to his every whim. He’d been threatened and reminded by both her father, her brother, her nursemaid, her cousin, and her bloody Theon Greyjoy that she was strictly off limits for all purposes. He was nothing to her, and she hadn’t even said goodbye, but that was an old wound that festered now. 

He was a blacksmith now. He made a good living for himself. He’d made himself into one of the best on the island, mostly from his own learning. That was what had led him to the mansion in the first place; his master had been commissioned to make a sword for Theon Greyjoy’s promotion. Sandor, of course, had been the one to make it. His master was good for less than nothing these days.

It was a fine sword. He’d trained with it for more than a week to make sure it was perfect. He had half a mind to keep it for himself, but what use did he have for such an expensive sword? He was a blacksmith, nothing more. Better that Greyjoy had such a thing, and Sandor remembered his place. 

“Mr. Clegane!” Ned Stark appeared in the foyer, dressed in his finest grandeur and curled grey wig. He was still the formidable figure that a scared young boy remembered from childhood. Sandor turned sharply and gave a curt bow. “It’s good to see you again.” 

“Good day, sir,” he greeted him politely, offering him the case. For all that he was, he did like Ned Stark. He was a good man and he’d produced an angel of a daughter. That had to count for something. “I have your order.”

“Ah.” Ned opened the case and raised his eyebrows at the sword inside. He drew it carefully, inspecting it reverently. Sandor couldn’t help but swell with pride, a little bit. 

“The blade is folded steel. That's gold filigree laid into the handle. If I may--” Sandor offered to take the sword. Ned handed it over after a moment and Sandor balanced it on his finger at the point where the blade met the guard, eyes shining. “Perfectly balanced. The tang is nearly the full width of the blade.”  
  


“Impressive... Very impressive. Commodore Greyjoy will be pleased, I'm sure. Do pass my compliments on to your master,” Ned requested and Sandor had to bite back the comment that it was he who had done the work. Instead he kept his face polite and with practiced ease, he flipped the sword around, caught it by the hilt and returned it to the case, ignoring the exclamation from Ned.  
  
“I shall,” he replied carefully, placing the lid back on. “A craftsman is always pleased to hear his work is appreciated--” he broke himself off upon hearing a noise at the top of the stairs. He looked up and there stood Sansa, resplendent. His breath was taken away; he stared up at her in astonishment. 

She was wearing a gown nearly as fair as she was, and her hair was bound up so that few curls escaped it. She stood there, looking down at him and her father, her mouth slightly open in surprise. Then a beautiful smile overtook her lips and she began her descent, her blue eyes alight with joy. Sandor vaguely heard Ned beside him, but he could only stare at Sansa in amazement as she came towards him, rather rapidly.  
  


“Sansa! You look stunning!” Ned remarked, and Sandor could only nod alongside him. There were no words for what she was. Sansa walked towards them, beaming.  
  


“Sandor, it's so good to see you,” she proclaimed, reaching out for him before stopping herself. She reached up and touched the thin chain that went around her neck and disappeared into her bosom. It took everything in Sandor not to follow the golden links. “I dreamt about you last night.”  
  
"Really?” Sandor forgot himself for a moment, flushing red at her words. What sort of dreams did Sansa Stark have about him? For a horrifying moment, he wondered if she knew what sort of dreams he had about her.  
  


“Sansa, this is hardly appropriate….” Ned cleared his throat awkwardly, but Sansa ignored her father, those blue eyes intent only on his face. Blue flames burned hotter and the same was true for her gaze. He almost felt like he was going to melt at the sheer force of her brilliance.  
  


“About the day we met. Do you remember?” she asked him earnestly.  
  


“I could never forget it, Miss Stark,” he responded carefully. He remembered the pain. He remembered the hurt. He remembered blue eyes down upon him, so kind and sweet. He remembered her promise to watch over him. She’d been his angel amongst the smoke. He’d never forget her.  
  


“Sandor, we’ve known each other since we were children.” she was smiling so warmly at him it almost hurt. Her voice was so familiar, so teasing, like it had been all those years ago. “How many times must I ask you to call me Sansa?”  
  
“At least once more, Miss Stark. As always,” he breathed, recalling the way Ned Stark had sat him down and so calmly explained what happened to men who thought to presume favor with a lady like Sansa. He’d never forget those moments either. He was aware, now, that beyond this beautiful girl was an angry father and brothers who would hurt him and a life full of promise he could never offer her.  
  


“Well said,” Ned remarked quietly, taking Sansa’s arm. She looked a little taken aback, hurt blooming across her lovely face. “There's a boy who understands propriety. Now, we must be going.” he took the case and turned to face the stairs. “Arya! Robb! Bran! Rickon!”  
  


After a moment the rest of the Stark children came spilling out. Arya’s hair was already messy as she bickered with Rickon, hoisting her skirts up nearly to her knees. Robb, wearing his nicest clothes with his officer’s medals, gave Sandor a short nod, but the rest seemed not to notice him. Sansa straightened her back, gathered her skirts and strode past Sandor to follow her family.  
  
“Good day, Mr. Clegane,” she said stiffly without really looking at him and it wasn’t until she was out the door and riding away in her grand carriage with her whole family that Sandor allowed himself to reply, quietly, with heartbreaking longing,

“Good day… little bird.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i mentioned, reviews feed the ego and such - thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys!! thank you for all the love and support!

The ceremony was long, and swelteringly hot. Sansa tried to stay deep into the shade, but it afforded her little protection from the heat. She stood between Robb and Jon, both of them dressed in their best. Behind her were the rest of her siblings, watching as her father declared Theon a Commodore, with all the pomp and circumstance. 

The men marched, the band played, and after far too long in Sansa’s opinion, Theon wielded his sword. The sword Sandor had made. Sansa knew that it was his; she’d seen his Master Brown enough times to know that man did nothing. Sandor was the one behind it all. She felt a flash of pride, before she remembered his refusal to acknowledge her. The medallion burned cold on her skin. 

He cared for her so little that he refused to even acknowledge their shared memories. She had always felt close to him, after the way she’d taken care of him on the ship. He was always kind and considerate when she mentioned it, but the few times they’d been able to talk, he was always curt. She gently touched the chain of the necklace, wondering if it was only a girlhood crush that made him out to be someone interesting. He certainly had no interest in her and why would he? Arya would tease her for assuming that every man would fall in love with her but Sansa wasn’t that prideful. 

She’d be quite alright if only Sandor ever loved her and no others. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asked her, once the ceremony was over and the guests went to retire to the party for drinks and food. Sansa gave him the brightest smile she could manage while taking tiny, dizzying steps. Jon meant well. 

“Yes, I’m afraid Shae just gathered my dress a pinch too tight,” she informed him politely, then gave her fan a few quick snaps in an effort to stem the gathering of sweat along her hairline. “Not to worry.” 

“He makes a great leader and a good man,” Jon said, his clever grey eyes following Theon. “He is fair, loyal, and smart.” 

“Surely,” Sansa agreed. “I don’t need you to tell me of his attributes Jon, I know them well enough myself.” 

“I’d hoped to perhaps set your mind at ease.” Jon turned to her, his usually serious face even more solemn than she’d ever seen. “You have been like a sister to me Sansa, most of my life. I don’t relish the idea of you being unhappy. Will he make you happy?” 

“Happy would be getting out of this corset,” Sansa attempted to joke. “But I’ll settle for you making sure Rickon doesn’t pour punch down Lord Mooton’s boot please? I’d stop him myself but--” she gestured to her bodice. 

“Of course.” Jon bowed his head and was off. Sansa leaned against the cool stone, fanning herself more rapidly now. It was rather unladylike but she was slightly desperate to cool down. She looked around, trying to find her siblings and make sure that they were behaving. Jon had pulled Rickon aside and was talking to him lowly, so Sansa felt that a disaster had been averted at the least.

Arya was holding court with several men, but Sansa knew from past experience it wasn’t for her looks or charm. Men had tried to cow Arya before. Sansa was sure it would never happen. Robb was talking to her father and several officers while Bran listened behind him, a look of awe on his face for his brother. She smiled before a shadow fell across her path and she looked up in surprise. 

“May I have a moment?” Theon was before her, dazzling in his shiny new uniform and sword. He offered her his arm and after a pause where she briefly entertained the idea of running, Sansa forced a smile onto her face and took it. He led her away from the party, toward the parapet. They climbed to the top, overlooking the bay. Sansa leaned against the stone, sucking in tiny breaths.   
  


“You look lovely, Sansa,” he told her, gazing out over the water. Sansa made a small noise of thanks, but couldn’t get any other words out. Breathing, already a trial, seemed much more difficult after any form of exertion. Her chest was heaving, but when Theon turned to her with a small frown, he seemed not to have noticed. “I apologize if I seem forward, but I must speak my mind. This promotion confirms that I have accomplished the goals I set for myself in my career. I love the sea, and thought I had found the deepest satisfaction there. But this casts into sharp relief that which I have not achieved. The thing all men most require: a marriage to a fine woman.”

“Oh.” Sansa gasped slightly, her head spinning, and Theon took a step closer to her, encouraged. 

“You have become a fine woman Sansa.”  
  
 ****

 **“I** can't breathe,” she tried to tell him. Darkness was closing in around her, blackening the edges of her vision. Theon smiled at her.  
  


“I'm a bit nervous, myself--” 

But the world was black and Sansa faded from it with nothing more than a flap of her skirts in the wind. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


She awoke, coughing up sea water. Her lungs burned and her head was pounding, drenched and shivering. She tried to get her bearings; above her was a man with bright green eyes and hair of gold. He was looking down at her with concern, but swiftly enough his expression changed from worry to confusion to something much darker. Sansa had a brief moment of fear, but he wasn’t going to harm her; his attention was affixed to the medallion that had spilled from her breasts. 

“Where did you get that?” he asked her lowly and Sansa stared at him, unsure of what to say to him or how to explain this. She had no idea if he knew what it was, but it could not be well. His emerald gaze flickered to hers with a look of confusion, but not a moment later, a blade of smooth steel was at his throat and Theon at the other end of it.

“On your feet,” he ordered, eyes cold with fury. For a second Sansa’s rescuer didn’t move, eyeing the blade like it was nothing more than a play thing, but then he rose slowly and she got to her feet, head spinning. 

  
  
**“** Sansa! Are you alright?” Ned had arrived, shedding his coat and looking at Sansa with shock. Sansa nodded, accepting his coat rather absentmindedly. She was shivering, trying to understand what had happened. She’d fallen, that much was clear. Was it into the water? Who had saved her? How had she survived? She looked at the men, alarmed to see the rage on Theon’s face. She knew that never boded well, for anyone. 

  
  
“Yes -- yes, I'm fine -- Commodore-- Theon, do you intend to kill my rescuer?” she demanded quickly, gathering the coat around her tighter. Her dress, the expensive, beautiful dress, was gone, leaving her in her shift and the medallion was freed, but she dared not draw attention to it for fear that they would notice. It was clear that whoever saved her knew exactly what it was. Sansa intended to ask him, which would be difficult if Theon ran him through right here in the docks.

  
 **  
**Theon looked at the man with a hard expression. The golden haired man did his best to give a charming smile. He was handsome, Sansa had to admit, with his emerald eyes and charming crooked smile. He was soaking wet as well, and a small pile of clothing and effects at the rail gave the clear impression he’d dove in to save her. Theon sheathed his sword, and extended his hand rather stiffly.

  
  
 **“** I believe thanks are in order,” he said flatly and the man reached for him. For a moment, hands were shaken, until Theon yanked the man’s arm toward him and tore back the sleeve of his shirt. Sansa started when she saw the exposed brand on the man’s inner wrist - a large **'P’** burned into the skin. 

“Pirate?” Ned’s tone instantly turned to one of scorn.

  
  
 **“** Had a brush-up with the East India Trading Company, did you, pirate?” Theon sneered while his men lowered their guns around them. “Keep your guns on him, men. Stark, fetch some irons.” Robb nodded and after a second, Theon flipped the sleeve a little higher, revealing a tattoo. It was a lion, roaring, and the man flinched. Sansa was astonished; she’d heard of such a symbol. She’d read about a pirate with a lion tattoo. “Well, well... Jaime Lannister, is it?”

  
 **“** Captain Jaime Lannister,” the infamous pirate winched, “if you please.”

Jaime Lannister was a well known pirate and his were always the best stories. Him, fighting off a hundred men and winning. Taming sea beasts and savages, sailing across the seas in search of treasure and adventure, never killing a man unless they deserved it. Sansa had no idea that he was actually real, nor what he would be doing here in King’s Landing, saving her and asking after her medallion.

  
  
“I don't see your ship Captain,” Theon remarked, looking out at the bay. It lacked any distinct pirate ships. Sansa felt dizzy on her feet, from the whole of the day. It was starting to feel like too much.

“I’m in the market, as it were,” Jaime said breezily. He certainly wasn’t acting like a pirate caught on the wrong end of a sword. 

“He said he'd come to commandeer one,” one man offered up but Sansa was too astonished to care.

  
  
“I told you he was telling the truth. These are his, sir,” another man said, offering up a bundle in his arms. He held out a pistol and belt. Theon took the pistol, examined it, and looked at the powder horn on the belt.

“Extra powder, but no additional shot,” he remarked. Jaime shrugged. Theon unhooked the compass from the belt and opened it, eyeing it critically as it spun wildly, then came to a stop pointing towards Sansa and her father. “A compass that doesn’t point north,” he added with scorn and drew the sword half from the scabbard, the steel flashing in the sunlight. “And I half-expected it to be made of wood.” he slid it back into the scabbard with a definitive shove.

“Well?” Jaime said, as though things couldn’t be helped.

  
  
 **“** You are, without a doubt, the worst pirate I have ever heard of,” Theon sneered and Jaime simply grinned, spreading his fingers wide.  
  


“Ah, but you have heard of me.”

  
  
“Commodore, I must protest.” Sansa stepped forward when the irons appeared. Her father’s coat slipped from her shoulders, but she was past caring. She could not stand by while the man who had saved her was taken away. He was a pirate and though they had stopped thrilling her long ago, he deserved more. She couldn’t watch idly at this. “Pirate or not, this man saved my life.”  
  


“One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness,” Theon warned her. His grey eyes were nearly stony, but Sansa hoped she could soften them, just enough. If he truly loved her, he would relent, she told herself. She didn’t think about what it meant if he did not.

  
 **  
**“But it seems to be enough to condemn him,” Jaime observed, as the manacles closed around his wrists.

  
  
 **“** Indeed.” Theon’s smile was thin. His men stepped forward to retrieve Jaime, but the pirate simply rolled his eyes.  
  


“Finally,” he uttered casually. Lightning-quick, he had the manacle chain wrapped around Sansa’s throat. She gasped, and pistols were drawn again, but Sansa served as Jaime’s shield. The only one who hadn’t raised a weapon was Robb; he was staring at her in alarm. Theon raises a cautioning hand to his men.

“Lower your weapons!” her father said commandingly, and Jaime made a noise of approval, backing away.  
  


“Commodore, my effects please, and my hat,” he ordered and Theon refused to move, staring at Sansa with something like frustration. For a moment, Sansa wondered just what he was willing to sacrifice. “Commodore!” after a beat, Theon gestured for his men to put the pistol and belt into Sansa’s arms. Jaime’s voice was sickly sweet in her ear, breath hot. “Sansa, darling-- It is Sansa?”

  
  
“You may call me Miss Stark,” she said hotly and his laughter tickled her ear. This was not how the dashing Jaime Lannister of the stories behaved. She felt sick.

  
  
 **“** Miss Stark then, if you'll be so kind?” once she had his items, Jaime gestured for her to turn, spinning so that they were face to face. Up close he was even more handsome, except for the gun trained to her head. Sansa wondered why a man like him chose to be a pirate of anything. By his looks alone he should’ve been a dashing vagabond, yet he didn’t have an ounce of charm. She worked to put on his belt and pistol, while he grunted. She’d never touched a man so intimately.

  
  
 **“** You are despicable,” she told him, taking care to jab him with the pistol. Why would a man save her, only to then force her into aiding what was surely an unlikely escape attempt?

  
  
 **“** I saved your life; now you've saved mine. We're square,” Jaime replied, then gave her a megawatt smile and spun her around once more. “Gentleman! And m' lady…. You will always remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jaime Lannister.” with that, he shoved Sansa away into the arms of her father and grabbed a rope. Suddenly, Jaime was lifted up to the middle of the gantry, where he grabbed a second rope and swung away from them.

Around her, guns fired and missed. Sansa heard her father and Theon both shouting orders, but she closed her eyes. She had no desire to see a man die, least of all Jaime Lannister, regardless of what he’d done to her. It wasn’t until the gunfire faded that she opened her eyes again, alone on the dock with only her father. Theon, Robb, and their men were charging off after Jaime.

  
  
“Are you alright?” the alarm was plain on her father’s lined face, and Sansa felt the chill more keenly now. She curled the edge of his coat up over her face, trying not to tremble as what felt like the last of her strength left her. 

“Yes, quite alright,” she assured him, wrapping her arms around herself and carefully hiding the medallion. She wondered what Jaime had thought, seeing a bit of pirate treasure on the daughter of the governor. The look in his eyes at the sight of it made her think that he knew it on sight, but why would he? She wondered if he was actually going to get away and if her only chance at the truth was gone with him. 

“Come, we must get you home, and dry.” her father fretting was uncommon enough, so Sansa bent her head like a dutiful daughter and went. By the time she was back home, it seemed that every single one of her siblings had heard the story and each was more dramatic than the last. By the time it got to Rickon, Sansa had fought off an entire crew of pirates with nothing but a plank of wood and a hair pin. 

“No Rickon,” Arya protested as the maids warmed some bathwater, “Sansa would never hit anyone.” 

“Not even a pirate?” Rickon’s eyes were wide. 

“Not even a pirate.” Sansa gave him a smile and touched his cheek. “Run along, go eat your supper. I’ll come see you before bed when I’m changed, alright?” 

“Alright.” Rickon left and Sansa looked up at her remaining siblings. Jon and Robb hung back, as did Bran. 

“The rest of you too. I’ll change and be along,” she reassured them.

“Glad you’re alright,” Robb muttered, before leaving. Jon nodded and steered Bran out by the shoulder. Arya remained, helping Sansa shed her damp clothes and then climb into the tub. Sansa managed to pull the medallion off and hide it amongst the pile. She didn’t think that she’d escape her sister’s questions if Arya had glimpsed that as she sank down into the water. To Sansa’s surprise, Arya stayed even then. 

“So how did it really happen?” she asked, rinsing Sansa’s hair. Sansa hummed in contentment at the warm water. It felt good to have Arya’s fingers in her hair, and it felt better to have a moment with her sister where they weren’t screaming. “Were there really pirates and monsters?” 

“Pirate, singular,” Sansa corrected, brooding as Arya began to wash her hair. Sansa wasn’t sure how to tell her sister it was far less exciting than it seemed, lest she risk Arya’s departure. She and her sister weren’t close, but Sansa wanted them to be. “It was Jaime Lannister.” 

“The Jaime Lannister?” Arya demanded. “The one from all those stories you loved?”

“That’s the one.” Sansa sighed. “He was rather impressive, but less… Charming, I suppose. A little more vulgar.” 

“He is a pirate, Sansa,” Arya said incredulously. “The stories are just stories, you know that right?” 

“Of course.” Sansa waved a hand. “But I thought he’d be a little bit more dashing, and little less… Rough.” 

“You nearly died today.” a note of fear slipped into Arya’s voice and Sansa twisted to look back at her sister. “When you fell, you should’ve seen the men. Theon was screaming, he almost went in after you. Robb had to hold him back.” 

“I….” Sansa hadn’t thought about her fall much. It was what happened after the fall that had captivated her so. She thought of the fall and the water, but she remembered none of it. Just the dock and Jaime. “I don’t recall any of it.” 

“Well, I do.” Arya gave her hair a yank so that Sansa put her head under, rinsing the soap from her hair. “Don’t do it again, alright? You’ll give Rickon ideas.” 

“Oh dear,” Sansa muttered. Rickon surely thought it a grand adventure and would likely try for himself. 

“I am glad you’re alright.” Arya let Sansa soak for a bit longer. “Don’t do that again please. And make sure father never puts me in one of those things.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Sansa promised. She stayed in the tub until the water was chilled, then rose and dressed for bed. She asked Shae to heat her bed while she made her rounds. First was Rickon and Bran’s room. 

“Sansa!” Rickon was standing atop his bed. Both he and Bran held toy swords and seemed to be in the midst of battle. “How did you fight off the pirates?” 

“Down, down, off your beds,” Sansa ordered, shutting the door. “It was only one pirate, and I wasn’t the one to fight him. No one fought him.” 

“But then how did he get away?” Bran asked, as Sansa took their swords and placed them out of reach so that they wouldn’t be tempted to resume when she was out and they were meant to be sleeping. 

“He was a pirate, so he played a trick,” Sansa explained, opening the covers for Rickon to climb in. “But Theon and father and Robb have all their men searching for him. They’ll find him soon, don’t you worry.” 

“I don’t worry about pirates,” Bran declared, in his own bed. “They don’t scare me. Someday I’ll be a Commodore and I’ll chase them all across the seas!” 

“Of course you will.” Sansa kissed Rickon’s forehead then went to Bran’s side. “All the pirates fear Bran Stark.” 

“Yes, they do,” he said stoutly as Sansa drew the covers up snugly around him. He even allowed her to kiss his forehead as she had done with Rickon. 

“Alright then, bed, both of you,” she said, patting Bran’s covers. “I’ll see the both of you in the morning. Sweet dreams, and no sword fighting.” 

“Goodnight,” they chorused as Sansa blew out the candle. Robb and Jon were waiting for her in the hallway, looking rather sheepish. 

“And why aren’t you lot in bed?” Sansa asked as she eased the door to Bran and Rickon’s room shut. 

“We’re going with father, down to the fort,” Robb explained, “but I wanted to ask you if… If Theon had….” 

“He proposed, yes,” Sansa admitted, rather stiffly. Robb exchanged an unreadable look with Jon, before they both looked back to Sansa. 

“And did you give him an answer?” 

“I might have, had I not been busy nearly plummeting to my death,” Sansa said sharply and Robb had the good grace to look abashed. 

“Sansa, we know that you’ve had an excitable day. We just wondered if we might carry your word to Theon,” Robb tried to suggest but Sansa rolled her eyes and folded her arms, glaring at the pair. 

“You may take my word to Theon that I thank him for his actions today and I hope that he understands the taxing day I’ve had,” she replied and Jon looked amused for a brief moment while Robb sighed. 

“Of course, sister.” he leaned forward and embraced her shoulders, kissing her on both cheeks. “Rest well.” 

“Thank you,” she said woodenly, as Jon did the same. Then both her brothers were gone, off to the fort. She went to her room, surprised to see her father standing at the window, looking out over the encroaching darkness. 

“I don’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly as she snatched the medallion that she’d half hidden beneath her robe. 

“Not startled,” she said, hastily throwing it on and tying her robe tightly around her. He turned to her with a sad smile. 

“I need to follow your brothers to the fort, but I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he informed her and Sansa sank gracefully down onto her bed. 

“Father, I am fine,” she told him, for the hundredth time. “I just need some rest.” 

“I know.” he sat beside her and patted her knee. “Forgive a father for his worry. It’s just….” 

“I know.” Sansa patted his hand. “I know.” and she did. Her father had never been the same after the death of her mother. He was serious and stern, a good leader, but Lady Catelyn had been his joy and happiness. 

“She would’ve known what to do,” he said, not so much to Sansa as to himself. “She would have made you a good match, a husband you loved. She’d know what to do with Robb, and with Jon. She’d have tamed Arya and Bran and Rickon. I… I did my best Sansa, but I fear that it wasn’t enough.” 

“We all know how much you love us,” Sansa told him. “We’ve never doubted that, not even for a moment.” 

“Yes, but your mother… It’s a woman’s place with her children and I fear, Sansa, that I’ve done you a great disservice. I should have remarried, provided Bran and Rickon with a mother. I burdened you with too much, too young.”

“Bran and Rickon are good boys.” Sansa thought of their sweet faces. “As are Robb and Jon. Even Arya will be good in her own way, once she settles down.” 

“What would I do without you?” Ned leaned forward and kissed Sansa’s cheek. “You’ve been my saving grace since you were a child Sansa. All of your mother’s sweetness is in you. I think this is the first time I’ve worried more about you than your siblings in all my life.”

“Well.” Sansa tried for a smile as he chuckled. “Perhaps next time you’ll spare me your fashion advice and there won’t be cause for worry.” 

“Get some rest.” Ned rose. “I’ll be at the fort. Are there any words I might pass on for Commodore Greyjoy from you?” 

“Give him my thanks.” Sansa crawled into bed. 

“Anything else?” Ned pressed and Sansa reached for her book. 

“Goodnight father.” 

“Alright dear.” Ned gave her a sad little smile. “Goodnight.” 

Once he departed, Sansa’s maids arrived in force to ready her for bed. Sansa mostly ignored them, pretending to read so that she didn’t have to answer their questions. She was sure the gossip was running rampant amongst the servants, so she bent her head over the book, even if the letters refused to arrange themselves into words. All she could focus on was the medallion, and why Jaime had looked at it so. 

“There we go, miss,” Shae said, tucking Sansa in snuggly. “It was a difficult day for you, I’m sure.”

“I suspected Commodore Greyjoy would propose but I must admit, I wasn’t entirely prepared for it,” Sansa mused. The expectations of her father and brother were weighing heavily on her. She’d known Theon for most of her life, and he was a good man, truly. Sansa had been preparing for her marriage since her mother’s death, but now that it was upon her, it seemed like she’d rather tumble for the fort walls again than face it. 

“Well, I meant you being threatened by that pirate. Sounds terrifying,” Shae said, fussing with the sheets.

“Oh, yes, it was terrifying.” Sansa’s fingers automatically went up around her neck, to feel the cool chain. 

“But the Commodore proposed. Fancy that. Now, that’s a smart match, Miss, if it’s not too bold to say.” Shae looked down at her with dark eyes glinting in the candlelight. She was a clever one, and Sansa gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. 

“It is a smart match. He’s a fine man; he’s what any woman should dream of marrying,” she reflected. Certainly it was the marriage her father hoped for, and her brothers too. The only one with any dislike of him was Arya, who thought him to be a pompous idiot. She would have a life of luxury with him and good standing. It was as much as anything a girl like her could ever wish for. 

“Well, that Sandor Clegane, he’s a fine man, too,” Shae remarked with a bit of a smirk and Sansa’s eyes flew up to meet hers, letting the medallion go as though burned. “Even with the scar and all.” 

“That _is_ too bold,” she said coldly, thinking of the scar. She liked his scar. It didn’t make him less of a man. The scar was the very thing that brought them together, bound them in a way. She’d been the one to tend him, watch over him. He was hers, from the moment she’d spotted him in the water. 

“Well, begging your pardon, Miss. It was not my place.” Shae bobbed a curtsey and left. Sansa rolled over, holding the medallion tight in her palm. She closed her eyes even as she knew no sleep would come. Tonight, she would dream of pirates, she was sure of it. She was rather alright with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeenter jaime!!! hopefully this answers all the questions about who jack would be! i am so excited to share this story. Thank you a million times over for the support!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends. heavy week. i wrote this chapter long before current events but now it feels different. i'm going to mention George Floyd below - if you're here for an escape, I understand. Please skip this note and go on to enjoy this chapter, otherwise....
> 
> as many of you know from my story Minnesota, State Of, which was a love letter to this state - the cities are my home. and right now we're living through riots, curfew, protests, and so much justifiable anger. i am sad. i am heavy. i am completely safe, which is more than so many can say. and i am angry. so i urge you, even if you've never stepped foot in the Twin Cities, let alone Minnesota, please consider supporting us in getting the officers involved with the murder of George charged and arrested. (as of now, only one has been charged, though they all have been fired). There needs to be more. There needs to be police reform. There needs to be longstanding change. But i encourage you to take a moment and donate to George's memorial fund, minnesota freedom fighters, sign the charge petition, anything. my city is hurt and i am grieving. 
> 
> but i am endlessly, endlessly, endlessly thankful for all of you.

Sandor always got the best gossip from Round Maude. She sold him his bread and told him what she’d heard from the fort. Sandor had nearly dropped his bread but retained a stoic expression when she’d told him that the governor's daughter, the pretty one not the wild one, had toppled from the fort and had been rescued by the pirate Jaime Lannister of all people. The pirate had held Sansa Stark hostage until he could get away, and now he was hiding out on this very island, waiting in the shadows. 

Sandor wandered home as if in a daze, too astonished to give much notice to his steps. Dozens of soldiers raced past, but he hardly minded. He was too busy recalling Sansa, in that magnificent dress of cream and gold, wearing her pearls. Her smile, so quick, and her eyes, searching his face, so eager. She’d been the most beautiful he’d ever seen her, and she’d nearly died. 

The thought put him in a gastly mood, as did the idea of her in the hands of pirates. He loathed pirates; he’d been attacked on his crossing and been burned for it. He’d lost everything then, until he’d opened his eyes and saw Sansa. He hoped she was alright as he let himself back into the forge. He wondered what excuse he might make up to go to the mansion and see if she was alright. A sword, for Robb?

To his surprise, the donkey was going in circles. Frowning, he set down his bag of bread and went to calm the animal, muttering a few sweet words until he slowed. He looked around the rest of the forge, wondering what had happened to set the creature off. Surely it was not his master’s doing. 

“Right where I left you,” he muttered, as Brown snored away loudly in a corner, too drunk to wake. Then he noticed a hammer atop an anvil and frowned. He always put his tools away. “Not where I left you,” he said slowly, then noticed a three cornered hat and reached for it. Before he could lay a hand on it, a sword slapped his knuckles. At the other end was a disheveled man with eyes of bright green and hair nearly the color of Sansa’s dress. Manacles still hung around his wrists, though broken now. Sandor’s mind raced to catch up, but he spoke anyway. “You're the one they're hunting. The pirate.”

“You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?” Jaime asked him, backing him away from the hammer. Sandor went, eyes narrowed.

“I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates,” he told him darkly. Though he had a couple inches and some muscle on the pirate, there was something about the man that was dangerous like a cornered animal.

“Ah, well, then it would be a shame to put a black mark on your record. So, if you'll excuse me….” Jaime gave him a mocking bow and turned to leave. Sandor reached down and grabbed one of the swords he’d created, holding it out to Jaime’s throat. He turned slowly and looked at Sandor. “Do you think this wise, man, crossing blades with a pirate?”

“You threatened Miss Stark,” Sandor said from between gritted teeth, holding his sword a little higher. Perhaps it was a folly. But he couldn’t let this man escape without answering for his crimes.

“Only a little,” Jaime promised then lunged forward so their swords met. Sandor matched him and saw a flicker of surprise in Jaime’s face before it was quickly gone again. “You know what you’re doing. I’ll give you that. Excellent form. But how’s your footwork for a man of your size? If I step here--” Jaime stepped, but Sandor again matched him. “Very good. Now I step again,” Sandor realized a moment too late that Jaime had maneuvered himself towards the door. He gave another mocking bow. “Ta.”

“No!” Sandor threw his sword with all his might. It buried itself in the wood, deep, beside Jaime’s head. For a second Jaime was utterly still, then he carefully went to pull it out. After several tries, he was unsuccessful and he turned, giving Sandor a sort of exasperated smile that might have been endearing had it not been deadly. 

“That is a wonderful trick,” he admitted, “except, once again you are between me and my way out. And now you have no weapon.”

Except Sandor knew the location of every sword he made, and there was one that had fallen into the fire, doubtless by Brown’s drunken hands. He snatched it, the tip a heated red. Jaime looked impressed for a moment, then went on the attack once more. They clashed around the forge and Jaime looked at all the swords hanging or in progress. 

“Who makes all these?” he demanded, batting aside Sandor’s blows as most people did with flies. 

“I do.” Sandor attacked him with renewed vigor and Jaime nearly stumbled back. “And I practice with them three hours a day!”

  
“You need to find yourself a girl, mate,” Jaime advised. “Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you have already found one and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch, are you?” his gaze flickered between Sandor’s legs, so Sandor took the opportunity to try to disarm him, grunting in frustration when it failed.

“I practice three hours a day so that when I meet a pirate, I can kill it!” their fight was continuing all over the forge; Jaime was not above using any and all means to avoid Sandor’s sword. For a moment, Sandor thought he had the upper hand when he hooked a knife in the irons hanging from Jaime’s left wrist and threw it up so it was embedded in the beam above them. 

But for his moment of pride Jaime hit a loose board and Sandor tumbled off the cart. Before he could rise again, Jaime was free; he fell back on the cart just as Sandor climbed back on. Sandor was launched up into the rafters. Before Jaime could free himself, Sandor cut free a heavy sack to vault Jaime up into the rafters as well. 

Jaime looked at him in shock, but Sandor took no pride in his thinking this time. Jaime was far too clever, so he attacked again, leaping from beam to beam as they fought. He managed to disarm Jaime, thinking it was over now before sand was thrown in his face and he choked, blinded by it. When he opened his eyes again, Jaime stood before him, a pistol pointed between his eyes. Those green, catlike eyes glinted.

“Good fight. Now move.”

“You cheated,” Sandor accused and Jaime’s smile was not of amusement.

“Pirate,” he reminded him before there was a large amount of yelling and kicking at the door. Jaime looked back at him, eyes darkening. “Move away.”

“No,” Sandor stated, still holding the sword as though that would do him any good against a bullet. Jaime sighed and cocked the gun.

“Please move,” he ordered, desperately. 

“No! I cannot just step aside and let you escape.” Sandor held his ground, even as Jaime’s hand didn’t waver.

“This shot is not meant for you.” Jaime almost seemed pained, but before he could shoot, glass broke over his head and he crumpled. Sandor stared in frank astonishment at Brown, holding a broken bottle of the very rum he’d passed out on. 

“There he is. Over here,” the soldiers yelled as they broke down the door. Sandor, filthy, watched as they surrounded Jaime. After a moment, Theon Greyjoy stepped through the door and glanced around with an impervious air. 

“Excellent work, Mr. Brown. You’ve assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive,” he remarked and Brown gave a tiny shrug. 

“Just doing my civic duty, sir,” he replied, still drunk, and Sandor had to work hard not to roll his eyes.

“Well, I trust you will always remember this as the day that Captain Jaime Lannister almost escaped. Take him away,” Greyjoy ordered and the men did as ordered. Greyjoy was gone without a second look back at Sandor. After a moment, Brown let go of the broken bottle and grunted, going in search of more. Sandor was left to clean up the mess that had been made by Jaime. 

He cleaned himself up enough before he returned to the forge. Brown had made his way off to some pub so Sandor had the place to himself, where he could work alone. He had no desire to work on his sword skills, so instead he set to making new weapons. Swords that could kill pirates, if he did a good enough job on them. 

He bent over the forge and the fire. He’d been frightened of it when he had first started, recalling the flames that had burned his skin. But now he knew how to control it. Work it. It was his tool, not his enemy. So he used it to shape his swords and weapons, trying his best to forget his worry over Sansa and his anger at Theon Greyjoy. He noticed the chill seeping into the forge when he stepped away from the fire. He opened a window and stared out into the bizarre stillness. 

Nothing seemed to be amiss. A single black cat raced by, but other than that, there was silence. It seemed the whole town was quiet. Sandor was about to go back to his blades when cannon fire shattered the peace, followed by more and more booms, clearly an attack. Sandor, cursing, thought of Jaime Lannister, a plant for the pirates. He reached for his swords and an ax, hearing the screaming begin. He raced into the streets, looking for pirates. 

* * *

The cannon fire awoke Sansa with a start. She’d been dreaming again, dreaming of pirates, and for half a moment she believed that it could only be her nightmares again. Except, as she threw the window open, she saw it, there, in the bay, flashing. The ship from the day she found Sandor. Pirates. 

Instantly she closed the curtains again and raced into the hall. Arya was already out of bed, as were her younger brothers and Shae. Sansa grabbed Rickon while Arya took Bran’s hand, Shae running after them. Sansa led them to her father’s study, where a hidden passage remained behind the fireplace. They’d played in it as children, jumping out to scare their father while he was at his work. 

“In, in, get in.” Sansa’s heart was racing as she pressed Arya in, then set Rickon into her lap. Bran squeezed beside them and Sansa stared in horror at them. There was no more room for another body.

“Sansa.” Arya seemed to realize the same thing as her sister, her eyes going wide in horror. “Sansa, you can’t, you can’t, they’ll--”

“Hush,” Sansa ordered, already backing away to grab the lever so that the passage would be hidden again. Rickon was crying, while Bran clutched Arya’s sleeve like he was a young boy again. “I’ll be alright. Stay in here. Don’t come out for anyone, no one but Father or Robb, alright? I’ll hide somewhere else, I’ll be fine. I love you.” 

“Sansa,” Arya cried, but Sansa yanked the lever down and the passageway closed, as though it had never been there. Sansa turned to Shae, who looked terrified. 

“Miss Stark, they’ve come to kidnap you,” she whispered urgently and Sansa’s hand flew to the medallion, safe around her neck.

“What?”

“You’re the Governor’s daughter,” Shae reminded her and Sansa let go of the medallion, nodding and trying to think rationally. She had to keep everyone safe. She had to get them away from her siblings. They were coming for them and she had to fight. 

“They haven’t seen you. Hide, and the first chance you get, run to the fort,” she ordered, pushing Shae through the door and into the library. Shae raced for another door, but there was no time for Sansa to do the same. She could already hear the running steps coming towards her, heavy foots on the wooden floors.

Sansa turned and found the warmer her father used for his feet was still roasting in the fire. As the door burst open and pirates came at her, with bared teeth and glinting weapons, Sansa swung and hit one in the face, but the other reached for her, his grimly hands ensnaring her hair.

“Gotcha,” he leered, but Sansa released the latch on the bed warmer and ashes fell on him, singing his hair and face. She ducked away as the pirate howled in pain. “Ow! It’s hot! You burned me!”

“Come on!” the other pirate ordered and Sansa darted for the dining room. There were swords in her family crest and her father had commissioned Sandor to recreate it above the fireplace. Two swords hung there, and Sansa just needed a moment and one of them, even if she had no idea how to use them. She slammed the door behind her, hoping desperately that she’d led the pirates far from her siblings. She used a chair to reach for the swords, dragging them off the wall and shouting in surprise when they didn’t wrench loose. 

“Sandor!” she cursed and stared at the sword in horror. His work was too good; there would never be enough time for her to pull one free. Even if she did, she never fought with the boys like Arya did. She’d never be good enough to take down two pirates by herself. The door trembled under their assault and Sansa looked up, gasping. There was a breath, then she vaulted the chair and went for the linen closet. 

“We know you’re here, Poppet,” one pirate crooned, when the door finally broke down. Sansa tried to hold her breath, but her heart was racing so quickly it did no good. 

“Poppet,” the other pirate echoed. They were wandering through the room, looking around curiously. 

“Come out, and we promise we won’t hurt you. We will find you, Poppet. You’ve got something of ours, and it calls to us. The gold calls to us,” he warned her and Sansa reached up to clasp the medallion. It was as cold as ever, strangely. Sansa had no more than a moment, she knew, before they were upon her.

“Gold calls….”

“‘Ello, Poppet.” an eye appeared in the gap, a yellowed and terrible thing and the door was pulled open. 

“Parley!” Sansa said, exhaling all of her breath in a whoosh. It spared her but a moment, she knew, from the confusion that crossed the pirates’ faces. One was squat while the other tall, and both stunk so badly Sansa’s eyes nearly watered. 

“What?” the tall one looked bemused, both of them still aiming pistols at her. Sansa took another breath, recalling her books from her childhood. This was her only shot, and she prayed it worked. 

“Parley. I invoke the right of parley. According to the Code of the Brethren, set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, you have to take me to your Captain,” she rattled off quickly and the squat pirate sneered at her, aiming his pistol closer to her throat.

“I know the code,” he said darkly. 

“If an adversary demands parley you can do them no harm until the parley is complete,” Sansa carried on, grateful that she’d memorized the code as a girl, finding it proof that pirates could be honorable.

“To blazes with the code,” the tall pirate hissed, more to his partner than to Sansa. The squat one placed a hand on his gun and began to lower it. Sansa’s heart leapt up into her throat, but then he turned to her with a smile that turned her stomach. 

“She wants to be taken to the Captain. And she’ll go without a fuss. We must honor the Code,” he decided and Sansa was yanked from her hiding place and bound. As she was marched back through the halls, she saw the open door of the library, ransacked, but left clear of pirates. She said a quick prayer that her siblings remained safe in their hiding place, then let herself be dragged down the stairs and out of the mansion. 

She was pulled through the streets, trying to avert her eyes from the carnage. Everywhere she looked someone was dying. From the fort came even more shots and cannon fire. She thought of her father, of Robb, Jon, even Theon. She hoped they were alright, that no harm had become of anyone. 

“Come on!” one pirate ordered, dragging her roughly along. Sansa looked up the streets, desperate for anyone to see her, to realize what was happening, but then she saw something even more heart-stopping. Illuminated by the fire was Sandor, standing tall and strong in the street amidst the fray, watching her be taken away. From so far, Sansa couldn’t see his expression, but she called for him even then.

“Sandor!” but a moment later he collapsed and she was forced into a boat, being rowed towards the ship. She sat amongst the pirates, tears in her eyes that did not fall. She told herself it was alright. Sandor was strong and it would take more than that to kill him. Her younger siblings were well hidden, and her older brothers were good fighters. She would end this, and it would all be over by morning. When they reached the ship, a dark, studded face glared down at them, growling. 

“I didn’t know we was takin’ on captives.”

“She’s invoked the right of parley with Captain Hoat,” the short pirate informed him, as Sansa was dragged aboard. 

“I am here to negotiate--” Sansa began, straightening herself up, but she instantly reeled with pain when she was backhanded. 

“You will speak when spoken to,” the dark pirate warned her and Sansa gasped, her cheek smarting. She’d never been hit a day in her life, nothing more than the childish slaps of Arya or her younger brothers when they were throwing a tantrum. She’d never felt such pain as this, but it only made it more clear that she needed to end this madness. 

“And ye not lay a hand on those under the protection of parley,” a tall, gaunt man ordered. Everyone was silent, watching him. Sansa saw the black cape, the black hat, and the bloodied goat’s horn at his side and went cold. She’d heard stories of Captain Vargo Hoat, and he was not the sort of pirate she’d hoped to have stumbled upon. The opposite of Jaime Lannister in that he was not one to leave many survivors. 

“Aye, sir.” the pirate who had stuck her stepped back, and Hoat stepped forward, appraising her carefully. 

“My apologies, Miss….” he trailed off quizzically, but Sansa ignored him.

“Captain Hoat, I am here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Kings Landing,” she said as firmly as she could. There was a long pause after her words, then some chuckles from the men in the back. Hoat looked at his men and when he smiled, it was revealed that several of his teeth were missing. 

“There are a lot of long words in there, Miss; we’re naught but humble pirates,” he chuckled, then turned serious. “What is it that you want?”

“I want you to leave and never come back.” Sansa thought of Rickon’s tearful face and Robb’s smile, of Sandor crumpling and not getting up.

“I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request,” Hoat responded and when Sansa looked at him in astonishment, he added, “means no.” 

“Very well.” Sansa played her last card and went to the railing, heart pounding. She took the medallion from her neck and held it out over the water. “I’ll drop it.”

“Me holds are burstin' with swag. That bit of shine matters to us?” Hoat attempted to joust, but Sansa saw the fear in all their faces. Not a single eye was taken off of the medallion, not even those of Hoat. “Why?”

“It’s what you’ve been searching for,” Sansa replied incredulously. She looked up at the black flag and black sails then back at him. “I recognized the ship. I saw it 5 years ago on the crossing from the north.”

“Did ya, now?” Hoat took a half step forward towards her, but otherwise no other faces gave her any inclination of what they intended to do.

“Fine. Well, I suppose if it is worthless then there’s no point in me keeping it,” she suggested, and let some of the chain slip through her fingers. The medallion dropped a little closer to the sea and every pirate aboard lunged forward. 

“No!” Hoat cried and Sansa gathered the medallion back into her hand, resisting the urge to smirk. She’d forced them to admit it then. They were after it. She wondered how Sandor had evaded them as a boy. “Ah,” Hoat chuckled, spreading his hands wide as though he wasn’t going to harm her. “You have a name, Missy?”

“Sansa--” she thought of Shae’s words and changed her mind at the last moment, giving her best curtsey on the deck of the ship. “Clegane. I’m a maid in the Governor’s household.” 

“Miss Clegane?” at the name, whispers broke out amongst the men. For some reason, Sansa heard the man behind her mutter, 

“Cutthroat.” 

“And how does a maid come to own a trinket such as that. Family heirloom, perhaps?” Hoat ignored his men and looked at Sansa critically. She thought of the boy that had worn it and lied through her teeth.

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Very well, you hand it over and we’ll put your town to our rudder and ne’er return,” Hoat declared, reaching for it. Sansa stepped forward and hesitantly handed over the medallion. It disappeared into the folds of his clothes. 

“Our bargain?” Sansa asked quickly and Hoat gave her a long look before turning and striding away.

“Still the guns and stow ‘em, signal the men, set the flags and make good to clear port,” the dark pirate commanded and the men scrambled. Alarmed, Sansa went to follow Hoat, glancing back at Kings Landing. 

“Wait! You have to take me to shore. According to the Code of the Order of the Brethren--” she began but Hoat rounded on her, a murderous smile on his face. 

“First, your return to shore was not part of our negotiations nor our agreement so I must do nothing. And secondly, you must be a pirate for the pirate’s code to apply and you’re not. And thirdly, the code is more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules. Welcome aboard the Black Pearl Miss Clegane,” he spat, with a leering smile, and Sansa’s whole world narrowed to nothing but his face as his words sunk in. 

“No,” Sansa went to cry out, but rough hands were already dragging her into the captain’s quarters, cruel laughter ringing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for being here with me. be safe, be well, be kind. reach out if you need help.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again I just want to thank you all for supporting this fic! it means so much!

Sandor awoke in the morning, head ringing. He felt like he’d been the one to take a glass bottle to the head. He reached up, winching, and found that he did indeed have a large bump. Cringing, he sat up amidst the dirt and the blood, looking around. In a flash, it came back to him; the sight of Sansa in her nightgown, being marched to the docks by pirates. He forced himself to get up and stagger to the fort. There were no men guarding it, so he found Sansa’s father, Theon, Robb, and Jon in the courtyard. 

“They’ve taken her. They’ve taken Sansa,” he called loudly and while Robb and Ned looked up, Theon remained looking down at the map, refusing to acknowledge him. Jon remained in the shadows, watching.

“Mr. Murtogg, remove this man,” Theon ordered without glancing up. 

“We have to hunt them down. We must save her,” Sandor protested, alarmed. They had to know this. They had to be getting her back. Ned Stark looked up at him sharply. 

“And where do you propose we start? If you have any information concerning my daughter, please share it,” he said hotly. “My other children watched their sister be taken by pirates. Do not think that we didn’t know.” 

“That pirate Jaime Lannister,” one of the soldiers offered hesitantly. “He talked about the Black Pearl.”

“Mentioned it, is more what he did,” another soldier corrected and Sandor looked between the two of them before back at Theon.

“Ask him where it is. Make a deal with him. He could lead us to it, and Sansa.” Sandor tried desperately. He kept seeing the image of Sansa being dragged away playing over and over in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, it was her in terror once again. He couldn’t just stand here, imagining all the awful things the pirates had to be doing to her.

“No,” Theon denied him flatly. “The pirates who invaded this fort left Lannister locked in his cell, ergo they are not his allies. Governor, we will establish their most likely course….”

“That’s not good enough!” Sandor slammed a hatchet into the table. No one jumped; all stared at it then up at Sandor with a hint of distaste. Without so much as taking his eyes off the map, Theon reached over and yanked the hatchet from the wood. 

“Clegane, you are not a military man, you are not a sailor. You are a blacksmith and this is not the moment for rash actions. Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man here who cares for Sansa,” he said lowly, handing him back the hatchet. Sandor was vibrating with tension; he was no longer the skinny, terrified boy he’d been on the seas. He was older, stronger, bigger. He could throw the axe at Theon and kill him, but somehow here, he was still just a child, helpless. 

“Come along, Clegane,” Robb ordered, taking him by the arm and led him from the fort. Sandor went without protest, bewildered as to how little action they seemed to be taking when it came to her. 

“He’s not even--” Sandor tried to protest, but Robb backed him into a corner. The young man’s eyes were the same color blue as Sansa’s, but they were filled with rage, and none of her softness. 

“Listen Clegane,” he warned him. “Sansa sacrificed herself to keep our siblings safe. I know you cared for her, but this is neither the time nor the place. Theon and myself will be getting her back. Go make some swords and forget that you knew her, do you hear me?” Robb released him. 

“I hear you,” Sandor replied, teeth gritted. He could never forget Sansa. He’d tried for years and failed miserably. 

“Good.” with a last significant look, Robb left him and went back to the table. Sandor waited until he was gone before heading the opposite way of the gate. He had a man in jail he meant to see. He went down the stairs, listening for guards, but all he heard was some grunting and curse words. 

“You, Lannister,” he said, when he spotted Jaime picking the lock. Jaime looked up at him, scoffed, and went back to trying to use a piece of bone to open the thing. Sandor hated this more than anything. He wanted nothing more than to kill the pirate and be done with it, but he could not. Would not. Getting Sansa back was worth anything he might have to do, no matter what levels he stooped to. 

“Aye.”

“You are familiar with a ship – the Black Pearl?” Sandor asked and that stopped Jaime. He looked up at him, resting his chin against the bars and inspecting Sandor with his jade eyes before giving a shrug. 

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Where does it make berth?” Sandor asked him, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. He just needed to know where she was. 

“Where does it make berth?” Jaime looked at him as though he might have grown two heads. “Have you not heard the stories? Captain Hoat and his crew of miscreants sail from the dreaded Casterly Rock. It’s an island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is.”

“The ship’s real enough. Therefore its anchorage must be a real place. Where is it?” Sandor demanded and Jaime leaned back, studying his nails as though bored.

“Why ask me?”

“Because you’re a pirate,” Sandor said, as though it should’ve been obvious. 

“And you want to turn pirate yourself, is that it?” Jaime asked, raising an eyebrow, his clever eyes glinting. 

“Never!” Sandor said vehemently. Jaime remained quiet, so Sandor was forced to admit what had brought him here. “They took Miss Stark.”

“Oh, so it is that you’ve found a girl. I see.” Jaime grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, if you’re intending to brave all, hasten to her rescue and so win fair lady’s heart you’ll have to do it alone, mate. I see no profit in it for me.”

“I can get you out of here,” Sandor offered and Jaime’s one eyebrow raised as he appraised the offer. 

“How’s that? The key’s run off,” he informed him and Sandor took a step back, looking at the cell critically. 

“I helped build these cells. These are half pin-barrel hinges,” he explained, picking up the bench and putting it at the bottom of the cell door. “With the right leverage and the proper application of strength, the door will lift free.”

“What’s your name?” Jaime asked suddenly, staring at him. Sandor hesitated, but then figured nothing could be hurt by telling him. 

“Clegane. Sandor Clegane.” 

“Clegane, huh?” Jaime mused it over. “Good, strong name. No doubt the name of your father, eh?”

“Yes,” Sandor admitted and Jaime suddenly sprung to his feet. 

“Uh-huh. Well, Mr. Clegane, I’ve changed me mind. If you spring me from this cell I swear on pain of death, I shall take you to the Black Pearl and your bonny lass. Do we have an accord?” He offered his hand through the bars.

“Agreed.” Sandor took it and shook. Jaime flashed him a smile.

“Agreed. Get me out.” he stepped back and Sandor pressed down on the bench, lifting the steel lattice off their frame with apparent ease.

“Hurry,” Sandor urged. “Someone will have heard that.”

“Not without my effects.” Jaime snatched the pistol, belt, and hat before following Sandor out. They snuck down the coast until they were to the docks, at which point Sandor thought he understood the drift of Jaime’s plan. He may have been called stupid his entire life, but this, this was simple enough. 

“We’re going to steal the ship. That ship?” he glanced at the Dauntless, anchored in the bay then back at Jaime, wondering if the man was mad and this was all going to be in vain. They were only two men, and Sandor hadn’t been on a ship since he was a boy.

“Commandeer. We’re going to commandeer that ship. Nautical term. One question about your business, man, or there’s no use going. This girl – how far are you willing to go to save her?” Jaime turned and looked at him and Sandor thought of the beautiful blue eyes hovering above him and her sweet voice, telling him she was watching over him.

He was nothing to her. He never could be anything for her, not when she was a grand lady. But she was everything to him and he could still see the fear on her face, her blue eyes wide. She was good and kind and lovely, everything good in the world. He loved her. There was no other way around it. 

“I’d die for her,” he vowed fiercely and Jaime turned back around.

“Oh, good. No worries, then.”

It was Jaime’s idea to use the canoe to get them beneath the Dauntless. Sandor hadn’t believed it would work until they were deep underwater, and the little pocket of air kept them from having to hold their breath. 

“This is either madness or brilliance,” he muttered, glancing down as they tread through the sandy bottom of the bay.

“It’s remarkable how often those two traits coincide,” Jaime remarked quietly. “Alright, there’s the anchor.” he stopped them then turned and looked back at Sandor. “Try not to do anything stupid, alright?”

“How do we get onboard?” Sandor demanded. The bay wasn’t terribly deep here, but they were still far enough underwater.

“Hope you can swim,” Jaime answered and ducked out from under the canoe. Sandor had no choice but to follow. He opened his eyes in the water, watching in astonishment as Jaime pressed off the bottom and used the anchor rope to pull himself closer to the surface. Lungs burning, Sandor did the same. 

The ladder was still thrown over the side, so climbing up and onboard the ship was easier than swimming towards it. There was only a small crew onboard, but Sandor was still surprised when Jaime swaggered up to them and loudly announced, 

“Everyone stay calm! We are taking over the ship.”

“This ship cannot be crewed by two men. You’ll never make it out of the bay,” the man in charge scoffed, unalarmed. His manner changed when Jaime drew the pistol and pointed it squarely in his face, while Sandor drew his sword. 

“Son…. I’m Captain Jaime Lannister. Savvy?”

Most of the men didn’t have their weapons on them. By threat and by force, Sandor and Jaime bundled them off into a boat and sent them on their merry way. Then Sandor turned to Jaime, looking around the massive boat somewhat helplessly. They would have to prepare the whole thing by themselves and Sandor didn’t have a clue what to do.

“What….” Sandor started, but Jaime simply pointed to a slack line. 

“There. Go like this,” he demonstrated lifting the line up and Sandor did his best, unsure. “Faster!” 

“This is fucking pointless!” Sandor bellowed, after a few moments of it. 

“Yes, but don’t give up now.” Jaime glanced over his shoulder as the Interceptor, Theon’s ship, began to sail. “You’ve just about got their attention.”

“Here they come,” Sandor muttered when the ship began gaining ground on them. Jaime turned and grinned, drawing his sword. 

“Our turn,” he muttered and Sandor followed him down towards the prow. He was beginning to think that he knew Jaime’s plan, but for every second that he knew what was going on, there were minutes that stretched by in confusion. 

“Search every cabin, every hold, down to the bilges,” Theon yelled, as his men swung over to the Dauntless. Jaime waited until the last man was gone before grabbing a line. Sandor grabbed the other and in a moment, both swung across. He landed hard aboard the Interceptor, but there was no time. He grabbed an axe and went to sever the lines, preventing any return. After a moment, Theon’s men noticed and tried to turn back, but Jaime had already taken the wheel.

“Thank you, Commodore, for getting us ready to make way. We’d have had a hard time of it by ourselves,” Jaime bellowed, sweeping his hat in a grand gesture, grinning. It was the first true smile Sandor had seen on his face since they’d met. 

Behind them, the Dauntless was powerless without her rudder, so there was no one to pursue them as they sailed out of the bay and into the clear, open water. Jaime bellowed orders and Sandor tried to obey. Half the time Jaime spoke in nautical terms, the other half were curse words. 

They made it out of the bay without chase, to his surprise. Ahead of them was crystal clear water and hopefully, somewhere out there, was Sansa. It was late in the afternoon when Sandor was allowed to rest and Jaime reappeared with the booze he’d pilfered from the captain’s quarters. 

“Should we drink?” Sandor asked him, glancing at the empty ship. They were barely managing as it was. 

“No better time,” Jaime declared, handing Sandor his own bottle. “It’s a few days to Tortuga and I won’t be doing it sober.” 

“Tortuga?” Sandor looked at him, stomach revolting. They had no time to waste right now. “What happened to Casterly Rock? What happened to getting Sansa back? She’s with pirates, they’ll--”

“They won’t hurt her.” Jaime took a long drink of rum while Sandor stared at him in horror. “Not yet anyways. And if you haven’t noticed, you’re no one man crew. If we want to sail and get your beloved Sansa back, we’ll need some help, namely, a crew.” 

“She could already be dead--” Sandor went to protest but Jaime rolled his eyes, and Sandor stared at him in horror. Did he care about nothing? 

“She’s not, trust me. I know those men. Sansa’s safe as lamb there, at least until they get to the Rock. Which will take them time. And we need a crew, like it or not.” Jaime pierced him with a green glare. “So sit down and stop looking to slit my throat.”

“Aye.” slowly, Sandor sat back and down and drew his sword, ignoring the rum. As much as he hated it, he had to trust that Jaime knew what the pirates were doing and where they were going. Jaime took a few more drinks, then looked at him. 

“So tell me about yourself then,” he ordered. “Where are you from, where did you grow up, the like.”

“I was a lad who lived in Westeros.” Sandor brought out a whetstone to sharpen his sword. The rhythmic strokes calmed him as he thought about Sansa alone and in danger. “My mother raised me by herself. After she died, I came out here, looking for my father.”

“Is that so?” Jaime took another long drink, lounging in absolute relaxation like there was nothing to be worried about. It set Sandor’s teeth on edge. 

“Aye, My father, Cleo Clegane.” Sandor looked up at Jaime and gave a long stroke down the sword. Jaime’s clever green eyes followed it. “At the jail, it was only after you learned my name that you agreed to help. Since that’s what I wanted, I didn’t press the matter. I’m not a fucking simpleton, Jaime.” his heart was racing. “You knew my father.”

“I knew ‘im.” Jaime shrugged and took another drink, unbothered by Sandor’s eyes on him. “Probably one the few who knew him as Cleo Clegane. Everyone else just called him Cutthroat or Cutthroat Cleo.” 

“Cutthroat?” Sandor looked at him in bewilderment. 

“Good man. Good pirate. I swear you look just like him,” Jaime remarked and Sandor stiffened, a cold chill running down his spine despite the hot sun above them.

“It’s not true. He was a merchant sailor. A good, respectable man who obeyed the law.” Sandor thought of the stories his mother had told him. That his father sailed on a large ship, carrying cargo all around the world. As a boy, before he’d died, Sandor had walked down to the docks just to look at ships, wondering which was most like the one that his father sailed on. He had to be a good man.

“He was a bloody pirate, a scallywag.” Jaime chuckled, taking another drink.

“My father was not a pirate.” Sandor placed the tip of his sword at Jaime’s throat, heart pounding so loudly in his ears that he could hardly think straight. The golden haired man glanced up at him then smirked and ignored it.

“Put it away, son. It’s not worth you getting beat again.”

“You didn’t beat me, you ignored the rules of engagement. In a fair fight, I’d kill you,” Sandor protested. 

“Then that's not much incentive for me to fight fair, then, is it?” Jaime said thoughtfully before reaching up and swinging a sail. It caught Sandor in the stomach and swung him out over the sea. He scrambled for purchase and breath in equal measure, well aware that if he fell, it would be up to Jaime to fish him back out again. He had no trust in that. “Now, as long as you’re just hanging there, pay attention. The only rules that really matter are these – what a man can do and what a man can’t do. For instance, you can accept that your father was a pirate and a good man or you can’t. 

“But pirate is in your blood, boy, so you’ll have to square with that someday. Now, me, for example, I can let you drown but I can’t bring this ship into Tortuga all by me onesy, savvy? So….” after another second, Jaime swung him back over the deck, drew his sword and then flipped it, offering Sandor the hilt. “Can you sail under the command of a pirate to save your damsel, or can you not?”

Sandor weighed his options for a long moment. Jaime could be lying. Or he could be telling the truth about the father Sandor barely remembered. And none of that mattered, since out there, Sansa was alone and scared, with pirates that would undoubtedly kill her. So he reached up and took the hilt, looking into Jaime’s green eyes and replied, 

“Tortuga?” 

“Tortuga.”

* * *

Sandor learned more at sea with Jaime for a few days than he ever had in a near decade with Brown. They were granted clear skies and favorable wind, and it was nearly dusk when Jaime announced they were close to their destination. When they sailed upon the island, Sandor wrinkled his nose. It didn’t seem like much and it was filthy to boot. Jaime paid some boys to mind the ship, then led him into town. 

“Hells,” Sandor muttered, stepping around a man who might have been dead. 

“What do you think?” Jaime asked, paying no mind to the unconscious man. Sandor looked around at the debauchery; whores and drunks, ragged children begging in the streets, blind men and cripples in the gutter.

“It'll linger,” Sandor answered, frowning. He hadn’t frequented the district in Kings Landing where such things had taken place, but his childhood had been spent in a rather unsavory area. This was far worse, but he supposed that any place that housed men willing to sail with Jaime Lannister would be. 

“Too right there you are,” Jaime replied, ducking down an alley and coming upon a pigsty. Inside a man slept peacefully. Jaime went to fill up a bucket at the spigot and gestured for Sandor to do the same. Once they were both full, Jaime stood over the grey haired man and dumped the water.

“Curse you for breathing, you slack-jawed idiot!” the man came up yelling until the water stopped dripping in his eyes and he realized who it was he was looking upon. Jaime gave him the same charming smile Sandor had seen back in Kings Landing. 

“Davos.”

“Mother’s love! Jaime! You should know better than to wake a man when he’s sleeping. ‘S bad luck,” he accused, blinking water away and trying to sit up with the mud. 

“Ah, fortunately I know how to counter it,” Jaime informed him, setting the bucket aside. “The man who did the waking buys the man who was sleeping a drink. The man who was sleeping drinks it while listening to a proposition from the man who did the waking.”

“Aye, that'll about do it,” the man agreed after puzzling it out for a moment. Jaime grinned and pulled him up. Sandor threw his water and Davos roared, shaking his grey hair out. “Blast! I’m already awake!”

“That was for the smell,” Sandor clarified and Davos went to argue, then shrugged and let it go, clapping Jaime’s back. He led them to a creaking tavern, and Jaime paused, stopping Sandor near the door. 

“Keep a sharp eye,” he ordered, before going to share a table for Davos. Sandor stood watch, back to them, but the chatter of the bar made it impossible to hear. He didn’t dare say that he remembered Davos. He’d been a sailor on Sansa’s ship, the one that had rescued him. He would never have remembered the man, except that he’d once muttered something about women being bad luck on the ship and Sansa had thought Sansa wasn’t bad luck - she was absolutely the best luck he’d ever had.

Maybe Davos didn’t know who he was either. The scar made that unlikely, he knew, but the man hadn’t hardly looked at him. And now he and Jaime were talking while Sandor stood here and tried to avoid the gunfight happening in the street outside. It wasn’t until Davos grabbed his shoulder and shoved a tankard of ale into his hands that they seemed to remember that Sandor existed at all. 

“Right, now you go and gather our crew,” Jaime ordered Davos, once they’d both finished several bottles each. “And meet us back at the ship in the morning.” 

“Aye, cap’n,” Davos agreed happily and Sandor had to help him to stand. 

“Back to the ship then.” Jaime stumbled off and Sandor followed, with a sinking feeling that not only was he doomed, but Sansa as well. 

In the morning, both he and Jaime went to inspect the men that Davos had brought them. It was a motley crew, filled with what looked like the lowest of the low from Tortuga. Davos seemed proud enough of them, gesturing to them as though he had wrangled a regiment of the king’s finest into their service. 

“Feast your eyes, Captain,” he boomed as Jaime flinched and pulled his hat lower to block out the hot, bright sun. “All of them, faithful hands before the mast, every man worth his salt. And crazy to boot.”

“So this is your able-bodied crew?” Sandor looked skeptically at a tanned old man with a colorful parrot on his shoulder.

“You, sailor!” Jaime addressed him, then looked back at Davos.

“Payne, sir,” Davos supplied helpfully. “Illyn Payne.”

“Mr. Payne.” Jaime turned back to the man. “Do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true in the face of danger and almost certain death? Mr. Payne! Answer, man!”

“Ah, he's a mute, sir. Poor devil had his tongue cut out, so he trained the parrot to talk for him,” Davos explained quickly and Jaime gave the man a skeptical look until he opened his mouth to show them that what Davos said was true. “No one’s yet figured how.”

“Mr. Payne's.... Parrot.” Jaime eyed it. “Same question.”

“Wind in the sails! Wind in the sails!” the thing squawked and both Jaime and Sandor turned to Davos for a translation.

“Mostly, we figure, that means yes.” the weathered old sailor gave them a shrug. 

“O’course it does,” Jaime stated, then turned to Sandor with a raised eyebrow and smirk. “Satisfied?”

“Well, you’ve proved they’re mad,” he remarked and Jaime rolled his eyes.

“You want to get your bonnie Sansa back? You’ll need mad fuckers to do so,” he informed him, then turned to the crew and raised his voice. “Men, I don’t pretend that we are going somewhere safe, nor warm, nor easy. Some of you may die. Some of you may wish you did. But at the end there’s treasure and glory and freedom. So what say you?” 

“Aye!” they all chorused and Jaime raised an eyebrow before striding back onto the boat purposefully. Sandor had no choice but to follow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise we're getting back to sansa. but i thought first we could all use some jaime!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi as always i am so very grateful for all of you, please enjoy

Sansa had been locked below decks for what felt like the better part of several weeks. She knew, rationally, that it had only been a couple days, but it felt like ages longer. Her meals were served to her by a tall man who didn’t say a word. He wore a grey head covering that left only his eyes visible. They were pretty eyes, bluer than the sea itself, Sansa had first thought when the man had served her. He hadn’t said a word, only locked her away from the crew. For that, at least, she was thankful.

There was a tiny porthole in her quarters that allowed her to see that they were still moving across calm, azure waters. She felt more and more like a captive each day, and maddeningly bored without anything to amuse her. Without distraction, her mind too quickly turned to what might come. She was trying to picture Sandor’s face in her mind when the door opened and the squat pirate who’d taken her leered out at her. She sat up and did her best to look intimidating, though she was still dressed in her nightgown.

“You'll be dinin' with the captain,” he informed her, tossing her a monstrosity of a black velvet dress. “And he requests you wear this.”

“Well, you may tell the captain that I am disinclined to acquiesce to his request,” Sansa said icily, thrusting the dress back out at him. It was several sizes too large anyways, and outdated by decades.

“He said you’d say that,” the squat pirate answered, nodding slightly. “He also said if that be the case, you'll be dinin' with the crew… And you'll be naked.”

“Fine.” flushed with horror, Sansa held the dress close to her chest and he grunted a few times, then left. Sansa changed quickly, doing her best to make the dress work. In the end, when the tall pirate came to get her, she was decent enough to stand in the presence of the captain. She held her head high as she endured the hooting and hollering on the walk to his quarters. She was seated and then Hoat arrived, sitting across from her.

On the table between them was a meal her own father might serve guests. She knew what a luxury most of these items would be at sea, with roasted meats and vegetables. And Hoat was sitting across from her, his dark eyes glinting in the candlelight as he appraised her. Sansa stiffened, trying not to show her fear.

“Please, eat,” he offered, gesturing to the spread. Sansa looked down at it then back at him, wondering if he thought her a fool. Were they really going to kill her like this?

“It’s poisoned,” she accused, trying to keep her voice from trembling. That seemed to amuse Hoat; he laughed and took a big swallow of wine.

“There would be no sense to be killing ye, Miss Clegane,” he promised and Sansa’s blood ran cold.

“Then release me, you have your trinket; I’m of no further value to you,” she pressed, wondering if they’d make her walk the plank. Worse, what would they do if she stayed on the ship, no use to any of them? She could think of one such thing and had to hold herself together to keep from bolting in fear.

“You don’t know what this is, do ye?” Hoat asked her idly, flashing the medallion. A hundred things came to Sansa’s lips; denials, lies, speculations, hopes. But she remembered it around Sandor’s neck, in the burning sea, and what she answered with was her biggest fear for the truth.

“It’s a pirate medallion.”

“This is not just any gold, Miss Clegane.” Hoat leaned forward so that she could see the skull again, like she hadn’t memorized it as a girl. “No, it’s the gold of Casterly Rock. It’s one of seven the Dread Pirate Tywin had cast. When you have all seven, you can open up the Rock. Inside, a treasure beyond any man’s wildest dreams,” he pronounced dramatically.

“I hardly believe in pirate stories anymore, Captain Hoat,” Sansa said stiffly. It sounded like one of the stories she would’ve loved as a girl, full of intrigue and magic. But when she sat across the table from Vargo Hoat, she couldn’t quite find the joy in it.

“Aye, that’s exactly what they all think, whenever we would boast of what laid beneath the stone of Casterly Rock,” Hoat admitted. “We spent years building that treasure, fighting for it, never able to spend a dime of it. So finally we forced ol’ Tywin to spill his secrets and sailed for the damned rock, but we were too late. He told us he sealed it with blood. We tried to use his son’s blood, but then we realized our mistake. Tywin had tricked us and sealed it with the blood of another man, his first mate. The very man we’d murdered for staying loyal to Tywin. Care to guess his name?”

“Clegane,” Sansa responded woodenly. It all made sense now - why they hadn’t harmed her when she’d given them her last name - the wrong last name. She thought of Sandor. Had he known? Had he always known? Had he just never told her that he was the son of a pirate, that his blood was what held back a treasure of unspeakable worth?

“Very smart. So now we have all the gold and the blood repaid. Thanks to ye, we have the final pieces.” Hoat leered at her and she recalled the name she’d given them. She’d taken Sandor’s name, thinking it safer than her own, on the chance it would give her some strength, and instead she’d granted them the only thing they needed. The blood of Cleo Clegane’s child.

“And the blood to be repaid?” Sansa questioned, terrified to think what they would do to her, and Hoat laughed, spearing a bit of meat, blood oozing out of it.

“That’s why there’s no sense to be killin’ ye…yet.”

After she ate, Sansa was escorted back to her quarters by the mute with the blue eyes. Sansa refrained from collapsing onto the bed and having a fit, but it was a near thing. She turned to the mute, who watched her with what might have been sadness, had Sansa been able to see any more of his face.

“You don’t know what’s coming for you,” she uttered, unsure if it was for herself or the pirates. “You have no idea.”

* * *

  
The storm tossed Sandor from the rigging, but he managed to catch a line, just barely. He clung to it, giving himself a chance to catch his breath and calm his racing heart as the rain and wind whipped around him. Jaime, behind the wheel, gave a shout of laughter and Sandor glanced back at him. The pouring rain made it hard to see him clearly, but Jaime stood at the wheel, compass in hand, and steered directly into the deluge.

“He’s mad,” Sandor yelled to Davos, who was doing his best to make sure the mast didn’t snap in the wind.

“Aye, mad as a damned hatter, that’s our Jaime,” Davos bellowed and Sandor managed to make his way to the deck, going to help Davos with the line. Sandor no longer had to think about how to sail the ship; a combination of Davos screaming at him and some painful trial and error had led to his quick education.

“What’s got him in such a fine mood then?” Sandor demanded, watching and cringing as the sails snapped with the wind.

“We’re catching up,” Jaime said with a savage smile.

Sandor found himself becoming more and more accustomed to life on the ship, with it’s rolling strides to keep steady on the deck, the hammock to sleep in, the rope beneath his hands. He felt like he barely remembered how to beat a blade or set a handle. Life as he knew it now was the ship.

He couldn’t sleep. Ever since they’d left Tortuga a few nights ago, he couldn’t, not when he thought about Sansa out there, off on some pirate ship. If he closed his eyes, he imagined what they were doing to her and it drove him up and out of bed. He usually went to the deck to look out over the sea with the moon rising high above and try to convince himself that it would be alright.

Tonight was no different, except Jaime himself was sitting at the wheel, a flask in one hand and a brooding expression on his face. Sandor walked up to him, apprehensive, but Jaime didn’t dismiss him. Instead, he offered Sandor the flask in an apparent gesture of solidarity so Sandor took and drank deeply.

“Tell me something Clegane,” he said darkly, without looking up at him. “What sort of man goes to the end of the earth to get a girl back, when he knows that her whole family would never allow them to be together?”

“A determined one,” Sandor answered tiredly. He knew what Jaime thought of him. He knew that he had to seem insane. But he didn’t care; Sansa was worth everything. Even if she never looked at him again, it would be worth anything and everything just to see that she was safe. That was all he wanted.

“What did she do to you?” Jaime questioned, taking another drink. “Either she’s the best goddamn lay of your entire life or you--”

He didn’t get anything else out. Sandor had hit him and now Jaime was sprawled on the deck, bleeding slightly, his flask scattered. He looked up at Sandor, who was breathing heavily and then smiled slightly. He grabbed the flask and took a drink, wiping away the blood. Then he tossed the flask to Sandor.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Sandor warned him lowly and Jaime brought himself to his feet, staggering ever so slightly.

“Fair enough. I’ll shut my mouth. But, tell me why you’re willing to die for a girl like her.”

“She’s good,” Sandor muttered, drinking. “She doesn’t deserve to die for anyone, especially not me.”

“Well I can see that.” Jaime watched him carefully.

“She’s an angel,” Sandor went on, unable to stop himself. “She was my angel, on the crossing. We were attacked.”

“Let me guess, by pirates,” Jaime said grimly and Sandor nodded.

“Blew the whole ship to shit. Tore up my face.” he reached up and touched the scar on his cheekbone. He still remembered the heat. “I got fished out of the sea, and when I woke up, she was standing over me like a fucking vision. Tending to me. Reading to me. Feeding me. No matter what I said or did, she was there for me. First time anyone had ever done shit for me. My dear old father left us the first chance he got. My mom and sister got the pox within the year and didn’t live to see the next. It was stay and let the street gangs tear me to bits for sport or run. I ran and somehow she found me.”

“And you fell in love.” Jaime didn’t sound mocking, it seemed more like pity than anything. Sandor stared out at the still water, not bothering to answer. They both knew the truth of the matter. “Dumb bastards we are.”

“Oh, and why are you doing all this then?” Sandor turned to look at him, irate. He’d had enough of Jaime thinking of him as some moron, who didn’t know a thing. He’d survived pirates, being orphaned, rebuilding his life, all of it. He loved Sansa, sure. But that wasn’t a weakness, that was a strength.

“The same reason you are,” Jaime stated, green eyes barely visible in the weak moonlight. “I fell in love.”

Sandor sat in shocked silence. Out of all the answers he’d imagined for Jaime’s motivation, that was not one of them. He turned to look at him, trying to gauge if he was lying, but Jaime looked miserable, not smug. He took another drink of the rum and ran a hand through his golden locks, shaking them out.

“With…. A woman?” Sandor asked slowly. He felt it was a valid question.

“Aye.” Jaime nodded, still looking out over the water. “A one in a million woman. She’d snuck aboard my ship. I figured out her secret, but I kept it. What kind of woman chooses this life? But she had. And I fell in love with her. Her name was Brienne.”

“Brienne,” Sandor repeated, still stunned. Jaime gave a bitter laugh.

“They’ve probably killed her. They damn near killed me when they fought my father. Took my ship and her on it.”

“That’s why you’re chasing them down,” Sandor stated. Jaime nodded. That made more sense to Sandor. He’d thought Jaime mad, but this was something more. They were two of the same now.

“I’m getting my ship back. I’m getting Brienne back. And I’m getting my revenge for each and every one of those fuckers.”

“Why?” Sandor narrowed his eyes. Jaime’s plan for revenge and Brienne seemed all well and good, and now the motivation was making sense, but Sandor knew there was something else. There had to be.

“We were a crew once,” Jaime divulged, drinking more. It seemed to be a sharing sort of night. “The murmurs, my father, and I. Grew up on the seas, on his ship. Watching him accumulate every sort of treasure there was. Hiding it all away. He was a miserable man, you know. Never shared a damn thing. Your father was there on the ship with us. Cleo Clegane. My father’s right hand. First mate. Damn good pirate.”

“He was an honorable man,” Sandor protested, but halfheartedly. He wasn’t ready to admit his father was a pirate yet but he could no longer protest that he’d been a good man. The fact that he never came home, the vagueness in all of his mother’s stories and explanations. The way pirates had attacked at his crossing, how they’d attacked Kings Landing. Pirates seemed to follow him, no matter what Sandor did to avoid them.

“He was a bloody pirate. No good man sails under a Lannister flag. Tell me, did he ever send you anything?” Jaime questioned, reaching under his shirt. “Something like this?” he pulled a medallion out, on a thin chain of beaten gold around his neck. Sandor stared at it, stunned. There it was, confirmation that his father was a pirate. He’d received the same one from his father, the very last time he’d ever seen him.

He’d given him the medallion, smiling as Sandor turned it over in wonder. He’d said he’d taken it from pirate treasure and that it was the most valuable thing in the entire world. Sandor had to mind it, keep it safe, and keep it hidden. Then he’d gone back to the docks and Sandor had worn it ever since, until his crossing.

“It’s lost,” Sandor said woodenly, blinking to clear his eyes. Suddenly, he was a child again, sitting on the ship with a bandage across his face, thinking that he’d lost the only thing that had mattered. The only thing that tied him back to his father, to his home.

“Oh, that’s what you think.” Jaime gave a hollow laugh. “Except I’ve seen it. Nestled between the fine breasts of one Sansa Stark.”

Sandor started forward, fingers itching to go around Jaime’s neck, but then he froze. It was as though someone had dumped icy water down his back; the realization of what was happening chilled him to the bone. Jaime had put it all together, the second he’d heard Sandor’s last name, and now he’d figured it out as well.

They thought Sansa was a Clegane. They thought she was him. She would’ve lied, agreed. She would’ve thought it was keeping her safe. But it wasn’t. She had the medallion, the right last name, she crossed at the same time as he did, it all fit together just a bit too neatly. Feeling like he was going to vomit, he managed to ask Jaime,

“Why did he give me that?”

“Clever man, my father.” Jaime tucked the medallion away. “He knew the hearts of his crew. Petty thieves, the lot of them. What was there to stop them from turning on him and taking the treasure for their own? So he made a witch come and seal it away. He had seven medallions cast, for himself and me, for members of his crew. And then he locked up the rock with them and blood. The medallions, they call to those who seek the treasure, but they will never give up their secrets, not unless the blood is paid.”

“How?” Sandor had received the medallion as a child, as nothing more than a trinket. He had no idea what it was. If it was indeed the key to a massive fortune, why would it be entrusted to a child?

“Blood magic requires a sacrifice.” Jaime stared at him steadily. “And there was only one man willing to die for my father. Your father, to be exact. It takes the blood of a Clegane to open Casterly Rock.”

“My blood,” Sandor said hollowly. “They’re going to kill Sansa because they think she has my blood.”

“Not if we get there first,” muttered Jaime, standing and walking away. Sandor slumped down on the deck.

It took his blood then. The blood of a pirate. There was no avoiding it or pretending otherwise now. His father had been a pirate and the last thing he’d done for his son was to bring him into this mess. Sandor was not who he thought he was; he was the very thing he despised. A bloody pirate.

Sansa was far too regal for a blacksmith, but she was utterly unattainable for a pirate. He looked across the deck, wondering if all this had come naturally to him because of his father. Because of his blood. Was being a pirate his due, the future he had only delayed for a moment before falling in? He had never envisioned his future with Sansa being possible, but now it only seemed like a dream. Or a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews for the author in lockdown, please?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY MUST BE REUNITED. THEY MUST.

Sandor had a sinking feeling in his bones when Davos told him that they were finally nearing the rock. Off in the distance was a hulking grey thing. Jaime’s gaze hardly left it as he steered them closer. Sandor watched, silently, as it grew ever larger. It was a monster of an island, and utterly stone. He didn’t think he saw a living thing on the entirety of it. Most of the crew gathered to watch as they neared. 

“Now what?” Sandor asked Jaime, as they got close enough to see a roaring lion’s head carved into the side. He stopped them there, on the opposite of Hoat’s ship so that they were unseen by the other pirates. 

“Now I go home,” Jaime told him, in a voice that spoke more of heartbreak than it did happiness. Then he turned to Davos. “You have the command of the ship. Should the worst come to worst…. Keep to the code.” 

“Aye, cap’n,” Davos said seriously, then turned back to the crew and nodded. “You heard the captain’s orders! Drop anchor, make secure. Lower a boat!” 

“And we’re going to do what exactly?” Sandor followed Jaime to where the crew was preparing a rowboat for them. 

“We’re going to row onto the Pearl, save your precious Sansa, and be on our merry way. That’s all you need to know,” Jaime snapped and Sandor caught him by the wrist. 

“We’re not endangering her, are we?” He questioned and Jaime’s mouth very nearly twitched up into a smile. 

“I would never,” he spoke quietly. “But I do believe you said you’d die for her.” 

“Get in the boat,” Sandor growled and they both did. Sandor took up the oars and began rowing them around the island, towards where Jaime claimed Hoat and his men would have anchored the Pearl. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Jaime advised him, eyes on where they would come around a jut in the island. Behind it lay the Pearl, with her black sails and black hull. On it was Hoat and more importantly, Sansa.

“What code is Davos to keep to if the worst should happen?” Sandor asked him instead and Jaime spared him only a glance, eyes otherwise fixed on the island. 

“Pirate’s Code. Any man that falls behind... is left behind.” 

“No heroes amongst thieves, eh?” Sandor grumbled and Jaime did turn around at that one, eyebrow cocked. 

“You know, for having such a bleak outlook on pirates you’re well on your way to becoming one. Sprung a man from jail, commandeered a ship of the Fleet, sailed with a buccaneer crew out of Tortuga--” he listed off and then clearly heard Sandor’s sharp intake of breath when he realized that the sandy seabed around the island was littered with gold. “And you’re completely obsessed with treasure.”

“That’s not true. I am not obsessed with treasure,” Sandor protested and Jaime returned his gaze to the horizon.

“Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate.”

Sandor had to stop rowing when he saw the pirate ship come into view. It all came back to him in a rush. He’d been young and he’d been so badly hurt he’d not thought to think of such a thing again, but there it was, the ghost ship from his nightmares. The ship that had nearly killed him. Sansa was somewhere in there, hopefully unhurt. 

Jaime waved a white flag of truce while Sandor rowed them ever closer. When they were close enough, he saw the faces of the men looking down at him, taunting and yelling threats. Rage was running through him, a cold fury, at what they might have done to Sansa. He wanted to draw a gun or sword, but he did neither and instead allowed himself to be brought aboard, searched, and bound. 

“Jaime Lannister.” Hoat emerged from the cabin. Jaime gave him a mockery of a bow and a too bright smile. “I thought we’d seen the last of you when you ran off like a yellow bellied coward. Come to die like your father?” 

“No need for anyone to die today,” Jaime said cheerfully. “Unless, of course, that someone is you.” 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you on the spot,” Hoat questioned, eyes narrowed and Jaime pretended to ponder it. 

“Oh Hoat, you sly old goat. You think you’ve figured it all out, haven’t you? Think you’ve finally outwitted my father, have you? There’s one thing you’ve gotten all wrong though. Think of it as a final fuck you from my father’s grave,” Jaime informed him and Hoat snarled. 

“Out with it Lannister or I’ll have your head.” 

“You have a girl onboard, a pretty thing. Hair as red as a bloody sunset, eyes of the sparkling blue sea. Tell me. You think a man like Clegane could claim a beauty such as that as his own seed?” Jaime laughed. 

“What are you implying, Lion?” Hoat snarled. 

“You’ve got the wrong child,” Jaime said slowly. “You’ve got the wrong Clegane, and you’re going to waste her on the only shot you’ll have in this lifetime to get to my father’s treasure. Would you want that, Hoat?” 

“Liar,” Hoat accused, drawing his gun. 

“Alright.” Jaime spread his bound hands wide. “But before you shoot me and my handsome face, think about this. I’m Tywin’s heir. The spitting image of him, some may say. And who be it to my right?” The pirates looked to the guard holding Jaime’s left side and the man sighed. “My right, you idiots.” 

“Ah.” Hoat turned to Sandor. Whispers broke out amongst the crew. 

“It’s fucking Clegane, come back from the dead.” 

“But the scar, where the fuck did that come from?” 

“Bring me the girl!” Hoat bellowed and Sandor’s heart flipped almost painfully. After a few long minutes of silence, there was some scuffling and muffled shouting, before Sansa was dragged onto the deck. 

Sandor’s whole world stopped. She was unharmed, her hair down and long around her shoulders. She was wearing a dress too big for her and it bared most of her collar bones and some cleavage. She was bound and gagged, struggling against the pirate that was dragging her forward. 

But she was unhurt. Blue eyes wide, but her creamy skin was still unblemished, no bruises or cuts to show that she had been hurt. His heart stopped and restarted several times over, until she stopped when she saw them, her eyes going wide. She cried out, but the gag jumbled it. His heart broke apart. 

“Silence!” one pirate shouted as Hoat grabbed Sansa by the hair and yanked her head up. Sandor jerked forward in a rush to help her, but a sword to his throat ended that. He could only stare at her helplessly, trying to tell her silently that he was going to keep her safe, even if it killed him. 

“Listen to me girl, and listen well, or it’ll be your blood I spill here on me decks,” Hoat threatened her. “Was your father Cutthroat Cleo Clegane?” 

“He wasn’t,” Jaime spoke up and Sandor looked at him, baffled. This wasn’t the plan. They’d never get Sansa back safely now. “You’re looking at the son of Clegane next to me, and the girl you hold captive is useless to you.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Hoat stepped closer to Clegane, then turned to Jaime. “And what’s your part in this, Lion?” 

“Messenger,” Jaime suggested. “Delivery boy. I brought you Clegane. I brought you the blood you need.” 

“Aye, and I recall you fighting to stop us from entering here last time,” Hoat looked at him skeptically. 

“Then you stole my ship,” Jaime reminded him, “don’t forget that part.”

“And now you come crawling back. Tell me why.” Hoat squinted at him. Sandor’s stomach sunk. There was never a plan for them to rescue Sansa. 

“You have a crew member who happens to owe me a significant debt. I intend to collect.” Jaime’s gaze swept the crew, the desperation in his green eyes barely concealed. “Where is the mute?” 

“You want the mute?” Hoat looked incredulous. “You’ll trade us Clegane and all your father’s treasure for one man?” 

“You bastard.” Sandor turned to Jaime, horror setting in. He’d never intended to get Sansa back at all. He only cared for Brienne, and this had been a trap. There was a small part of Sandor that understood, the part that would do anything to keep Sansa safe. But now Jaime was going to put Sansa at risk and Sandor wanted to kill him for it. “You pirate! You’re without honor, Lannister!” 

“I’m a man without my love,” Jaime said, so quietly that no one else could hear. “Surely of anyone you’d understand that. You can try to save your pretty damsel while you’re on the same ship, savvy?” 

“Bastard!” Sandor yelled again, as pirates lunged for him. He tried to fight them off, but it was no use. He was overwhelmed, bound and gagged, and unceremoniously cast aside. He looked for Sansa, but he was blocked by the pirates. Jaime had no pity for him, facing Hoat without an ounce of remorse. 

“The mute?” 

“He’ll turn up. You can leave with him after we have your father’s treasure, Lion. But I won’t have any of Tywin’s nasty tricks fooling me anymore. You’ll both stay in the brigg, lest we still need your blood yet.” 

* * *

Sansa stood on the deck of the ship, looking desperately between Jaime and Sandor. She felt like it was all going wrong; when they had showed up, she’d been certain that they were about to save her. The mere sight of Sandor, tanned and windswept, had been perfect. Like one of her stories. But now it was wrong, all wrong, and she was being goaded towards the plank by two vicious pirates.

“Go on, Poppet, go! Walk the plank!”

“Hoat, you lying bastard!” Jaime yelled. For the first time, she thought she saw true panic in his emerald eyes. “There’s no need to hurt an innocent girl!” 

“Don’t dare impugn me honor, Lion,” Hoat snarled. “There’s no need for her, not since you’ve brought me Clegane’s son. Though it does seem a shame to lose something so fine, don’t it lads?”

“Aye!” the crew chorused and Sansa’s heart stopped for a moment, unsure if this development was for the better or worse.

“So I’ll be having that dress back before you go.” Hoat’s eyes gleamed dangerously. A few leering pirates stepped forward and tore the dress off her, until she was standing in the hot sun in nothing but her linen shift. The wolf whistles made the hair on the back of her neck raise, but she would not be cowed. She would not show them the satisfaction of her fear. 

There was only one person she cared about. She looked to Sandor once more and saw the pain in his grey eyes. There was so much she wanted to say to him. Thank him for coming to save her. For being there when she needed him the most. To tell him that she loved him, she always had, and that she always would. But there was no time for that so all she could was give him a nod and then she stepped up onto the plank. 

“Off you go! Come on!” one yelled as she inched along, trying to judge the depth and the fall. She could swim, she’d learned aside Jon and Robb when they were still children, but what were the tides? What monsters lurked below, and could she--

“Too long!” the plank gave a violent shudder and with a gagged shriek, Sansa tumbled off the plank and plummeted to the water below. 

* * *

Sandor stared at the bit of blue sky where Sansa had disappeared, trying to will her back into existence. He could not think of her as gone, could not bear it. She had not drowned, she had to be safe. His rational mind told him that it would be impossible, that no one who could not swim could survive this, but even if she had, there were sharks and currents and nowhere else to go. She was gone. 

“Hoat, listen to me, you cannot--” Jaime was still trying to talk to the pirate captain, who was fast losing interest in him. 

“Gag him!” he ordered his bosun, turning and heading for his quarters. “Throw them both in the brigg, away from each other. I don’t want them trying to get free.” 

“How long, cap’n?” asked the first mate and Sandor wanted to care, but all that mattered was that Sansa was gone. Gone, and he had no idea how to get her back. He’d made it all the worse, instead of doing as he’d been told. He should’ve gone back to the smithery and let her brothers and precious Theon rescue her. 

“Lunar eclipse is in three days.” Hoat squinted at the sky. “We do it then.” 

He disappeared into the captain’s quarters amidst the cheering of his crew. Sandor willed himself to feel rage, something, anything, but he was numb. He had only ever wanted to save Sansa, to win a perfect smile from her, but now she was gone. He was dragged below decks by the pirates, Jaime beside him. He saw the man’s green eyes frantically sweeping the crowd of pirates, likely looking for Brienne. Sandor didn’t care. His Sansa was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yelling may be directed to the comments box, see below


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!! i promised braime!!!

Sansa came up for air, gasping. The fall had dislodged her gag, which worked in her favor, and her shift wasn’t as heavy as the full dress might’ve been. But she was still left swimming in the wake of the ship, with no prospects of help in the meantime. She was treading water, trying to figure out a plan without panicking when something touched her shoulder.

Stifling a scream, she turned and nearly slipped under the water in shock. The mute was staring at her, treading water as well. Lost were the headscarf and the loose clothes; if Sansa didn’t know any better, she’d think the person staring at her with those stunning blue eyes and golden hair cropped short was a woman.

“Are you hurt?” she spoke and Sansa nearly went under again. Most certainly a woman.

“No,” she said finally, when she’d found her voice.

“And can you swim?” the woman asked and Sansa nodded, stunned. “Good. Follow me.”

Sansa had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but she forgot them all in favor of swimming. They were headed for the island but every few strokes she looked back, expecting to see a pirate coming for them. It wasn’t until they reached a rocky beach, spluttering and coughing up sea water that she felt safe.

“Thank you,” she gasped, as the woman scrambled to her feet. “I can’t thank you enough, I--”

“Hurry,” the woman urged, helping her up. Sansa’s bare feet shrieked in protest as the rocks cut into them and she hobbled as she followed the woman into a thin crack in the grey, stone face of the island.

“Who are you?” Sansa asked, bewildered.

“You can call me Brienne.” she glanced back at Sansa and gave her a tiny smile.

“Why did you save me?” they were squeezing between the rocks, the gaps not allowing them to walk side by side but rather single file, and a few times Sansa was forced to duck or turn herself sideways to slip through. “Where are we going?”

“Questions later,” Brienne promised and Sansa fell silent. She knew she should be thankful for the rescue, but she could only think about Sandor, still trapped on the ship with pirates who were ready to spill his blood.

It seemed like hours before they finally stopped, Brienne working to shift a rock. Sansa stood behind her, soaking wet and shivering in the damp. With a few grunts, Brienne got the rock to slide aside and sunlight streamed in. They stepped out into a tiny lagoon, complete with a tiny sailboat pulled up onto the shore.

“What is this?” Sansa felt like she was going to faint. It was all too much. She’d loved these stories as a girl, but to now be part of it was something else entirely.

“An escape plan.” Brienne went to the ship and Sansa followed. “No food and I apologize, but there’s water and that’ll be enough. We can sail for Tortuga, try to get a ship and crew together before--”

“What is going on?” Sansa demanded. She was helping Brienne push the ship to the water, but she wasn’t sure what they were doing or why.

“We sail first, explain later,” Brienne urged and so Sansa gave an extra violent shove, splashing into the water before heaving herself into the boat. Brienne rowed them to the sea, then unfurled the sail so they could catch the wind. Sansa realized that they must have traversed half the island; the Pearl was entirely out of sight.

“Now can we talk?” Sansa demanded once Brienne sat back down, watching the patched sail warily like it would snap.

“I owe you an explanation,” Brienne admitted and Sansa felt comfortable enough with her to lift her dress up and try to wring out the bottom. “I was a part of Jaime Lannister’s crew, before his father was killed.”

“But you’re a woman.”

“No one looks twice at a mute.” Brienne gave her another little smile. “Except Jaime. He guessed my secret, but he kept it. He respected me wanting to make a life for myself. We grew…. Close. Until Tywin sealed in the treasure, and there was the mutiny. I knew Jaime was alive, but I had no idea how to get to him.

“I stayed, in the hopes that Jaime would come back for the Pearl and myself. But then we captured you and they realized that it wasn’t Jaime’s blood they needed but yours. But you’d said that Jaime has rescued you and so I thought that if I could keep you safe, then Jaime would come to defend his father’s legacy - or destroy it to keep Hoat from getting it - then we could be together again.”

“That’s why you didn’t hurt me,” Sansa realized and Brienne gave a tiny nod. “But I’m not Cleo Clegane’s child. Sandor is.”

“I realized that,” Brienne said heavily. “When Sandor and Jaime came onboard, I figured they would kill you and Jaime both now that they had what they needed. I snuck into the water, in the hopes that they’d make you both walk the plank.”

“But they kept Jaime, in case they still needed him,” Sansa told her with horror and Brienne nodded grimly.

“I know. And we have until the lunar eclipse to get a crew and an army to get back to the rock and save him before they kill him when he’s useless.”

“They’re going to kill Sandor too.” Sansa took a deep breath to stop herself from weeping. She looked out over the horizon so that Brienne didn’t see her tears, then froze. There, hidden from the Pearl by the rock, was a ship she knew on sight. The Interceptor.

“What the hell?” Brienne had caught sight of the ship as well, standing.

“Theon.” Sansa stood, her heart flipping.

“Captain Theon Greyjoy?” Brienne squinted at the ship.

“It’s Commodore.” Sansa grabbed the line to turn the sail towards the ship. “And I know how we’re going to get Jaime and Sandor back.”

* * *

A ladder was thrown down for them; Sansa climbed it expectantly, waiting to see the worried faces of her father and Theon, and perhaps Robb gazing down at her. But instead, when she clambered over the rail, she recoiled in shock and horror.

A motley crew of sailors were standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at her with stoic expressions. A parrot squawked loudly when Brienne appeared, and Sansa looked from face to face, struggling to understand what was happening. She landed on an older man and after a second, something deep within her memories surfaced and she squinted at him, unsure she trusted herself.

“Mr. Davos?”

“Aye.” he was older now, dirty and unwashed with bloodshot eyes, but it was still the sailor that Sansa had known during her crossing, the one who had warned her so strongly against pirates. “What happened to Jaime?”

“Hoat took him into custody.” Brienne seemed to know these people; Sansa looked back at her in confusion. “They took Clegane as well.”

“We have to get them back,” Sansa said urgently, taking a step towards the rigging, waiting for the deck to spring into action after her. No one moved, blank eyes staring at her. “What are you waiting for?”

“We can’t fight Hoat’s crew,” said one pirate, while another muttered,

“Jaime owes us a ship.”

“If you fight them, you could take the Black Pearl,” she tried to reason. “The best ship in the Caribbean, all yours!”

“There’s a code,” Davos told her gently. “They fell behind.”

“Hang the laws and hang the code!” Sansa raged. “Are you pirates or not?”

“Sansa.” Brienne was still behind her, expression impossible to read. “Leave it alone.”

“No.” she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. Sandor had freed a pirate and sailed to save her. He’d sacrificed himself to keep her alive. And she could not sit idly by while he died. He was the one good thing in her life, the one thing that was all her own. Not given to her by her father or her wealth, expected of her by society. She turned back to Brienne, mind whirling. “You said you’d need an army to fight Hoat.”

“Aye?” Brienne gave her a strange look. “Did you swallow too much sea water?”

“My real last name is Stark.” Sansa turned to the pirates with a grim grin, “and I know where we can find an army. Is there an island nearby us?”

The pirates allowed them to sail to an island not even a day's distance away; Sansa suspected that Davos was more sentimental than he allowed himself to show. The other pirates avoided her and Brienne both, but Sansa didn’t mind that. She could only think about Sandor and if he’d be alright.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Davos stood behind her as they approached the island. Sansa didn’t look back at him; if she did, she thought tears might fall. He reminded her of her father in a way.

“I have no choice.” she drew her arms around herself. “I have to get him back.”

“I remember when you were a child, when you crossed. You thought pirates were a grand story. You sang songs about them then.”

“I was a silly girl.” she felt her mouth twitch into a smile. “I had no idea what the rest of the world was like. I had no idea what this was like.”

“You grew up into a fine woman,” he added and she turned then, giving him a wry look. “Still are, in fact.”

“Where will you go after this?” she knew she couldn’t ask him or the others to stay. She knew what the punishment was for piracy.

“Jaime owed us the ship. He knew the risks when he asked us to sail with him, he knew what it was.” Davos looked back, in the direction of the rock. “We’re pirates.”

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” she said quietly and then looked up when Brienne approached, holding a canteen of water.

“Well?” she gestured to the rowboat.

“You can’t come with me,” Sansa said instantly and Brienne began untying ropes. “Brienne, the royal navy is who is going to come for me, not pirates.”

“Get in the boat, Stark.”

“Brienne, they will hang you if they capture you!”

“But if they capture me, they will have to capture Jaime as well.” Brienne stared at her, her blue eyes flashing with pain. Sansa knew it as the same pain she felt whenever she thought of Sandor.

“Alright,” she said quietly and Brienne gave her a curt nod, getting in the lifeboat. Sansa turned to Davos, who gave her a little nod. “Thank you for getting me this far,” she said honestly and his lips quirked as he helped her into the rowboat.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Stark,” Brienne remarked as the pair of them watched the Interceptor sail away.

“I do too.” she tried not to think about what would happen if no one came back for them. Then, with a confidence she didn’t feel, she turned to inspect the island that they had been abandoned on. She thought it would serve her purpose well enough.

It was small; she could walk around the entire thing in an hour or so. They were standing on a white, sandy beach. There were quite a few palm trees gently waving in the breeze and plenty of overgrowth and debris that littered the ground. Sansa grabbed the few supplies Davos had allowed them to take.

“Let’s get started then,” Brienne remarked dryly, following in her footsteps.

They got the bonfire started as dusk fell and Sansa was glad for the warmth. Arms and legs aching from the work they’d done, she sat in the sand and watched as the flames caught and spread. She glanced to her left where Brienne was reclined, the fire casting her face in an orange haze.

“Do you think it will work?” she found herself asking. Brienne’s blue eyes flashed to her and she gave a little shrug.

“It is a better plan than I had, I will give you that. You’re the governor's daughter. They’ll be looking for you. The smoke signal will be high enough to catch their attention.” with that, she threw another palm fond on.

“What was your plan?” Sansa asked curiously and Brienne was quiet for a long moment. For a second, Sansa wondered if the question was perhaps too personal and she’d crossed a line, but then Brienne spoke.

“I didn’t have one, not really. I mostly wanted freedom.”

“Is that why you became a pirate?” Sansa leaned forward and rested her head on her knees, watching Brienne. In the chaos and frantic desire to get Sandor back, Sansa hadn’t had much time to think about the lady pirate who sat beside her. But there was nothing they could do now but wait, and Sansa’s fascination with the woman who’d made the choice she never could came back rapidly.

“I didn’t intend to.” Brienne’s smile was lopsided, but Sansa liked it. It made her face seem kinder. “I wanted to join the Royal Navy. My father was supportive, in the sense that he didn’t force me to adhere to ladylike standards, much. But I was getting older. Suitors were expected. I had to change.”

“So you ran away.” Sansa thought of Theon and the mansion on the hill, of an endless parade of dresses and meaningless chatter. Her future.

“The Royal Navy requires you to have papers. Pirates could care less.” Brienne ran a hand over her short, blond hair. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my stature lends itself nicely to a man. I figured if I never spoke, I could pass with ease.”

“Hence the mute,” Sansa realized, nodding.

“I started on a small merchant vessel. Captain was an absolute crook. We were overtaken by pirates within a week. I defected. That was how I came to be on Tywin Lannister’s ship. It’s not a bad life, all things considered. I got the one thing I’d always wanted.”

“Freedom,” Sansa said softly, her heart breaking slightly. She knew that feeling. She knew it in her bones. The desire for wildness, to break the cage around her so that she could soar away.

“Aye. Then I met Jaime. He was different from the others. He had a different heart. Different intentions. He wasn’t cruel like some. And he was nothing like his father. I saw, over time, that he was a good man.”

“For a pirate.” Sansa thought of him rescuing her.

“I’m a pirate,” Brienne said mildly, “and you’re well on your way to becoming one of us, Ms. Stark.”

“I am not,” she replied automatically.

“I see the look in your eyes, when you see a ship.” Brienne leaned forward so Sansa could tell that she was watching her closely. “I see the hunger, the desperation. You might have started this to save your man. But it’s not all about that, not anymore.”

“I need to save him,” she stated and Brienne was quiet for a moment.

“So what happens after this?” Brienne asked mildly. “You go back to your old life? The one with balls and gowns and children and a husband who hardly looks at you, much less cares anything about you?”

“No.” Sansa couldn’t help but think of Theon, the way he held himself so rigidly, so tightly. He never cracked a smile or made a joke, not even when she did her best to amuse him. She saw light and happiness in his face, but only when he was looking at a ship, a sword, or battle plans from Robb. She was a fine woman to him - a fine trophy for him to place on his mantle and forget about.

“Why does he mean so much to you then?” Brienne questioned and Sansa gave her a sharp look.

“Why does Jaime mean so much to you?” she was sick of Brienne’s prying.

“He is the first man - no, person - who accepted me for who I was. No questions. No comments. No judgement. He didn’t care, so long as I could sail with them all. When they turned against Tywin, when they killed him and then tried to take Jaime, I thought….”

“That he was dead.” she thought of Sandor on the ship, his grey eyes full of regret and remorse and pain. “That you’d never see him again.”

“I knew there was a chance.” Brienne’s lips trembled and she raised a hand to her eyes like she was going to wipe them. “Jaime is…. Unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Ever. There was a chance. There had to be. I just had to wait, as we searched for the medallion and Clegane’s son, that Jaime would come back for me.”

“That’s a lot of faith to put in a pirate,” Sansa said softly and Brienne did smile then.

“And you put all your faith in pirates to rescue your Sandor.”

“This isn’t for pirates.” Sansa gestured to the raging bonfire.

“Then you had a lot of faith in a blacksmith. You told me, in the very beginning, that something was coming for us. That someone was Sandor, wasn’t it? Not your father, your brother, or that Commodore. The blacksmith.”

“The blacksmith.” Sansa ran a hand through her hair. “I….”

“How long has he loved you?” she asked gently and Sansa thought of the boy in her care, both of them children, the way he’d watched her then. She’d known. She’d always known. But she’d never truly thought about it, until now.

“I don’t know,” she answered, because she didn’t. It had been so long since she’d spoken to him, alone, in confidence.

“Ah.” Brienne sat back. “And how long have you loved him?”

Sansa didn’t have to think for more than a second to answer that one.

“Since I laid eyes on him.”

“Well.” Brienne surprised her, reaching across to take her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Then we have to get the both of them back, don’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys like it. i hope you guys love it!!!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 4th to my friends in the usa as always, defund the police, fight white supremacy, and do not vote for donald trump! okay enjoy!

“Sansa!” her father’s face was grey with worry as Sansa heaved herself up the side of the ship. Both Robb and Jon hovered over each of his shoulders, faces full of anxiety. “My god, you’re alright!” 

“Yes, yes.” she was starving - two days on a barren island with Brienne and no rations was making her head spin, but they’d had water and that was enough. Her lungs were full of the smoke from the burning of the trees to signal her family her location and she coughed. “Brienne, is Brienne--”

“God, look at you!” Robb immediately shed his jacket and wrapped it around her and she was too weak to fight it off. Besides, it was nice to be cared for in this moment. She had missed it, missed her brothers. Missed her father. The fear of her encounter was beginning to wear off, into something that felt like exhaustion setting in. 

“We have to go back,” she told them loudly, looking for Theon. She knew any decisions had to be made through him. He was her only shot at getting Sandor to safety, if he was even still alive. Theon was coming down from the helm, looking even more grave than was his custom. 

“Back?” Jon stared at her blankly. “Back where?” 

“To the rock. To save Sandor.” she explained desperately and Theon’s face went from polite concern to thinly veiled anger. She saw, behind him, the face that her father made and was unable to hide. 

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly, turning to face off with Brienne, who was standing exceedingly still behind Sansa. She moved between them, gazing up at Theon and willing him to listen to her for a moment. 

“But we’ve got to save Sandor.” Sansa looked at them all pleadingly. 

“No. You’re safe now. We will return to Kings Landing immediately, not go gallivanting after pirates!” Ned insisted, moving Robb aside so that he could hold Sansa’s shoulders. The gesture was meant to be comforting, but all Sansa could think was that he was holding her in place. She stared up at her father, a lump in her throat. It was the face of the man who had raised her, who she trusted beyond anything, but now she had to defy. 

“Then we condemn him to death.” Sansa told her father in horror. He exchanged looks with Robb, before gently touching her cheek.

“The boy’s fate is regrettable, but, then, so was his decision to engage in piracy.”

“To rescue me.” Sansa pulled away from her father, incensed. Did none of them trust his motives? Did they not understand him like she did? “To prevent anything from happening to me!” 

“If I may,” Brienne spoke from where she was leaning against the rail, watched by several wary, hostile crew men. “Think about it. The Black Pearl. The last real pirate threat in the Caribbean, and her entire crew in unawares. How can you pass that up?” her blue eyes were focused on Theon, who was visibly struggling to retain some sense of aloofness in the face of everything that was happening. 

“By remembering that I serve others, pirate wench, not only myself,” Theon said coolly and Sansa realized she had no other options. It was a possibility that had been lingering in the back of her mind since Brienne called her a pirate; there was one solution. Sandor had sacrificed everything for her. She had to do the same for him, so she threw Robb’s jacket off and went to Theon’s side, clasping his hand and trying not to tremble. Theon looked down at her, shocked.

“Commodore, I beg you, please do this. For me.” she swallowed all her pride, the words still coming out rather broken. “As… As a wedding gift.”

“Sansa.” Ned came to her side, staring at her in astonishment. “Are you accepting the Commodore’s proposal?” 

“I am.” she didn’t take her eyes off Theon, who stared at her rather blankly. She didn’t see any emotion flicker there beyond surprise and felt her heart sink. She steeled herself, remembering it would be better to save Sandor and lose him to a life of unhappiness then see him dead and gone forever. “If he saves Sandor and promises no harm comes to Brienne on this ship.” 

“No harm,” Theon swore, still rather woodenly. Then he looked to Brienne and regained some of his composure, nose wrinkling again. “You will accompany these fine men to the helm and provide us with the bearing to Casterly Rock. You will then spend the rest of the voyage contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase “silent as the grave.” Do I make myself clear?” 

“Inescapably clear.” Brienne smirked and was escorted away, her blue eyes lingering on Sansa even after she’d been taken below. Sansa was bundled off with Robb and Jon, unable to say another word.

* * *

“You knew Cleo Clegane?” Sandor asked the pirates in front of him. With Sansa gone, there didn’t seem to be any sort of point to life anymore, but the chance to know a little more about his past did appeal to him. Both pirates exchanged looks, before the one said quietly, 

“Ol’ Cutthroat. We knew him. Lannister’s right hand man. Do anything the old bastard said. That’s why he sent off a piece of the treasure to you as it were. He said we didn’t deserve that treasure.”

“Stupid blighter.”

“Good man,” Jaime spoke from a different cell but Sandor ignored him.

“Well, as you can imagine that didn’t sit too well with the Captain,” the pirate continued. “He cut the man’s throat and sent him to Davy Jones' Locker. ‘Course it was only after that we learned we needed his blood to open the rock.”

“That’s what you call ironic,” said the one eyed pirate thoughtfully. 

“Bring him!” the bosun yelled from the depths of the ship and the one eyed pirate started and reached for his keys. Sandor stayed where he was, reclined on the wooden bench, so that the pirates had to haul him up and away. The last thing he saw was Jaime staring at him, expression unreadable. 

The ride to the rock was mostly silent, as half the pirates seemed to be wary of the stone face of the cliff itself. Sandor sat in the middle of the rowboat, bound and gagged, trying desperately to think of how he was going to escape this. Jaime wasn’t going to come save him and Sansa was gone. That thought made all the fight go out of him. What point was there to living, if not for her smile? 

Before they landed on the rocky shore, he glanced up at the moon. It was slowly staining red, as the eclipse began. The sight made him want to shudder but a moment later he was dragged forward, stumbling on the pebbles underfoot. Hoat and the other members of the crew were standing below a massive carving of a lion, cruel and snarling. He looked up, stunned into silence at the sheer size of the thing. 

“Bring him here!” Hoat commanded and Sandor was thrown down at his feet. Hoat pulled him up and drew a dagger. The blade glinted wickedly in the bloodstained moonlight. Sandor thought of Sansa and did not fear his upcoming death. “Too long, the treasure of Tywin Lannister has evaded us! Too long has the dead man hoarded his gold from those of us who fought for it! No more! Tonight, we take what is ours!”

“Ours!” The pirates chorused and Sandor watched without flinching as Hoat brought the blade up to his neck. It felt like it was happening to someone else; this was all a dream and not his life. He was not here, he was not the son of a pirate, he was not the one who had lost the only woman that he had ever loved. 

“Blood of the loyal, shed by the dishonest.” Hoat’s smile leered, but a second later the blade flashed and pain radiated from Sandor’s hand, not his neck. He blinked in surprise at not being dead. Hoat had cut his bindings and slashed open his hand in one move; before Sandor could stop him, he pressed the bleeding cut below the snarling teeth of the lion. 

Sandor nearly stepped back when the rock seemed to glisten and then fade away entirely, revealing a long, black tunnel. Hoat reached a hand out and took the torch from his bosun, his dagger still pressed to Sandor’s neck. He stayed still, wondering if they’d kill him here on the beach or take him with. He got his answer when he was bound once again and shoved behind Hoat, nearly slipping on the wet rock. 

“In case we need more of your blood,” explained the bosun with a truly heinous grin. Sandor had no choice but to keep walking, deeper and deeper into the rock. It got colder as they went, the plinking of water and the shuffle of boots the only sounds. Sandor kept his gaze firmly on the torch. 

“Here,” muttered Hoat, when they reached what seemed to be nothing more than a dead end. Sandor was shoved to the front and he braced himself for another cut, but this time Hoat only took the medallion from his pocket and carefully lined it up with a divot in the wall. After a second, he pressed it flush to the rock. Sandor watched as the wall seemingly evaporated, like it’d never been there at all. 

He was pushed through the opening and into what seemed to be the biggest cavern in the world. It was as though the massive Casterly Rock was entirely hollow on the inside. Moonlight, stained red by the eclipse, shone through a huge hole in the top, and illuminated what lay within. And that was treasure. 

He stared in astonishment. Every crack and crevice was packed with it. Sandor was buffeted on all sides as the pirates raced past him, practically falling over themselves in an attempt to grab it all. Chests overflowing with gold coins. Pearls and gems strung together, as thick as ropes. Bottles of wine, stacked neatly as to not break. He saw the skins of exotic beasts, and fabric that not even Sansa’s father could have afforded. 

He backed away, seemingly forgotten in the mad rush. There, tucked away in a corner, was a small pile of old, unadorned daggers. Sandor had no idea when the pirates would look for him again, but he didn’t intend to still be bound when they did. It took some work with the dull blades, but finally his bindings snapped. He gathered up as many as he could, then began to run. 

He had just made it to the surface, the blood red moon still shining, when he spotted the second ship on the horizon. It wasn’t hard to see that it was flying the colors of the king’s navy and his heart lurched painfully. Was that Robb and Jon, still coming for the sister that he’d lost? Would he have to tell them what had happened? 

He had to make a choice. There was nothing more that he wanted to do than to go back into the cavern and kill as many pirates as possible. But there was something bigger at stake. He could fight pirates until he died, but he could do more. He could kill them all and make sure that Sansa’s brothers didn’t die in the bloodbath to come. And that would be his final act for Sansa Stark.

To save them, he would have to first save Jaime; though the man was a traitor and pirate but Sandor did owe him his life and he would want the same revenge Sandor did. He’d save him and be free of him, be free of everything in this world. If there was no Sansa, there was no life for him anymore, as a blacksmith or a pirate. He found a boat, pushed it into the water, and started to row. 

Jaime was in the brig, slumped over. Sandor stared at him, wondering if they’d ever had more in common than they did in that moment, both of their loves gone. He could almost feel pity for him, if he was able to feel anything anymore. 

“Lannister,” he said loudly and Jaime raised his eyes to him, those brilliant green eyes now bloodshot and dull. 

“Never thought I’d see you get out alive,” he remarked idly, as though they weren’t both in grave danger. 

“The royal navy is on it’s way,” he stated and something flickered in Jaime’s face. “There will be a battle. Who’s side are you going to be on?” 

“Whichever has the rum,” Jaime answered and Sandor went to get the keys. Jaime could act like it was nothing to him, but he knew better. There was still revenge to be had and he couldn’t turn that down. So he unlocked the bars and opened the door, offering Jaime his hand. The pirate eyed it for a long second, then took it. 

“You could take the ship. Sail away,” Sandor offered, as they made their way to the deck. “I’ll go back to shore, I’ll be able to -- what the bloody hell are you doing?” he stared in confusion as Jaime followed him to where the dinghy was tied up, instead of heading to the wheel. 

“Can’t sail this thing by myself, I need a proper crew,” he said briskly, grabbing the lines to begin to lower it. “And if I know my crew, they’ll have stuck to the code and are long gone now. And you’re not going to be able to do something dramatically stupid on your own.” 

“Stupid like what?” Sandor had sailed with him for too long to not know that there was something else, if Jaime was going to leave this ship behind. 

“Stupid like if you’re willing to shed a little blood, we can seal those bastards back into that cursed rock, for eternity. Anyone who touches that treasure, tries to remove it, will be trapped within. Another failsafe from my blasted paranoid father.” Jaime’s green eyes flashed, a brief flicker of life back in them now. “Because that treasure is cursed and so are we. And when we lose this blood moon, we’ll lose the only chance in this lifetime to kill them. So what’s say we get this done, savvy?” 

Sandor stared at him, long and hard. There was no meaning in this life anymore, but maybe he could find some, just for a moment. “Savvy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all enjoyed, have a great weekend!


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa didn’t look up when Jon entered the cabin. He stood awkwardly at the door, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. She knew she should say something to him, especially as he went off into battle. But her heart was so absolutely heavy, she could not bring herself to even look at him. She half feared she’d shout at him in rage. 

“Sansa,” he said quietly and she turned her chin up ever so slightly like she had as a child. “Sansa, I know why you did what you did. I get it.” 

“You do?” the bitterness laced through her whole voice. She felt like no one understood her. If they did, she wouldn’t have to sell herself into marriage to force them to save the life of a good man. 

“Sansa.” he took a step towards her and she drew her knees up, refusing to look at him. “If there is anything…” 

“Jon.” she finally looked at him, so that he could see that she’d absolutely shed the nice little girl she’d once been, now raw and angry. She was no longer the porcelain doll her father had gifted her; she was tougher now. She was made of ivory, not as delicate as she’d once been. “I’ve made my choices.”

“So you have.” he bowed to her, almost like he gave her respect, and then he turned around and walked out. She didn’t miss the sound of the lock clicking into place. She was trapped, as always, locked away. They could say it was for her own good, her own safety. But Sansa wasn’t that girl anymore.

She thought of what Brienne had said. About how she was becoming more and more of like a pirate. That she craved freedom. And the sort of freedom she wanted was the kind that was found on the deck of a ship, not in a marriage to a man who didn’t love her. 

And then there was Sandor. If he was still alive at all, she needed to get to him. She needed him, she needed to tell him that the feeling in her chest was unlike anything before. She wanted something that she could hardly even think about, let alone speak about. And she would never be able to get it locked away in this room. 

She had to think about her plan, but it came to her sooner than she would have expected. Perhaps Brienne was right. She was more like a pirate than she ever thought she would be. She took a deep breath and went to the wardrobe. She was right in thinking that Theon’s clothes would be too large for her, but she didn’t much care. Once she was dressed, she went for the bedsheets. 

It was easier than she’d imagined it to be, to get to the brig unseen. As it was, not even Brienne took an interest in her until Sansa located the discarded keys, jamming them into the lock to see which one, of any, would work to free the pirate. 

“You wear men’s clothes well,” Brienne remarked, watching her and finally Sansa managed to throw open the door, impatiently pulling Brienne out. 

“More comfortable than a bloody corset. Here.” she thrust an extra coat and hat at Brienne, hoping that it would do. “They’re going to storm the beach.” 

“Then they’re going to die.” Brienne put on the red coat with alarm. “Those men will die before they give up Tywin’s hoard of treasure. Not when they’ve spent years searching for a way to get to it.” 

“Well, we can sit here or we can attempt to do something.” Sansa gazed steadily at her, heart thumping in her chest. “Make your choice.” 

* * *

  
“What the hell is that?” Jaime stared at the ship that was coming about. “Is that the bloody royal navy?” 

“Aye.” Sandor nudged them onto the shore. 

“What the bloody hell is the royal navy doing here?” Jaime seemed bemused. 

“To stop the scourge of piracy?” Sandor suggested halfheartedly, drawing his weapons. He didn’t have much thought to give to the motivations of Theon Greyjoy. Not when he was likely coming here to save Sansa - who was already dead.

“Then let the bastards fight with us for once. Fighting with the navy, not against. I’m the shame of my father.” Jaime drew his sword and charged the cave, Sandor behind him. They encountered pirates halfway up, carrying their hauls of treasure. Sandor, blind with rage, cut through them all. He wanted the bosun and the captain; he wanted those responsible for the death of Sansa. Jaime showed a similar lack of mercy.

Sword met sword, the cry of steel ringing throughout the tunnel. Sandor ran one man through, who kept fighting him even with the hole in his belly. He was sweating now, fatigued in his sword arm, but he could still hear the panting of Jaime behind him, so he fought on, deeper and deeper, until they made their way into a cavern where the rest of the crew awaited them. Sandor glanced at Jaime, who was bleeding from a cut shoulder and looking grimly at the men. Sandor himself was covered in various injuries. 

“I’ll take the bosun,” he declared, in a measure of optimism that this was going to work for them. Jaime nodded, picking up an ornate pistol from a nearby pile and inspecting it distractedly. Then he aimed at a pirate charging for them, dropping him with a shot between the eyes. Jaime stuck it in his belt, satisfied.

“Then leave me Hoat.” 

With that, they descended upon the waiting pirates. 

It was a mad battle to get to Hoat. Sandor jumped puddles of saltwater, nearly slipping. He used any weapons he could find nearby, swinging with ornate swords and on one occasion, a fully gold chamber pot. Jaime was beside him, as creative with his choices if not more so than Sandor. 

He was satisfied with how many of the men were abandoning their captain in favor of trying to loot the rest of the cavern. He only had to slay three men before he was facing down the bosun and Hoat, both standing atop a mountain of gold coins. Sandor scrambled up them, sword twinged red. 

Hoat met Jaime with a roar, while Sandor was likewise engaged with the bosun. He found a new sense of strength, staring with hatred at the man who had killed the only person on this Earth Sandor loved. They spun, swords flashing in the dim light as each attacked the other viciously. Sandor had just managed to land a blow to the man’s knee when he heard the cry from the other end of the cave; Sansa’s brother and his army had joined the fray. 

“How are we going to kill them all?” Sandor yelled to Jaime, narrowly avoiding a slashed throat by vaulting over a boulder. 

“I’m doing my best!” Jaime bellowed back, fending off Hoat. 

“You’re the pirate prince!” Sandor was fast losing patience as he barely jumped out the reach of the bosun’s longsword. “How are we going to stop them?” 

“Spill your blood, there!” Jaime pointed to a huge chest, atop a hill and clear of all treasure besides. 

“No!” Hoat attacked with renewed vigor. “You will not betray us again Lannister!” 

“You’re the betrayer!” Jaime almost looked manic, his blows growing faster. “And - you - killed - her!” 

Sandor loathed to leave the bosun, but he saw everywhere, men in red coats falling at the hands of pirates who would die before they stopped trying to carry any treasure out again. So in a dangerous move that exposed him almost entirely, he thrust desperately, and managed to run his sword through the bosun’s chest. With no time to celebrate, he kicked him as hard and he could and ran for the chest.

Before he could make it, a pirate landed in his way, leering with two fizzing bombs in his hands. Sandor skidded to a stop, unable to avoid him. He had a moment of trying to formulate a frantic plan, but then the pirate was gone and in his place stood a soldier with an oar, staring at him in astonishment. His heart felt as though it had disappeared from his chest instantly; he would always know that face. 

“Sansa?” he thought perhaps he was hallucinating. Mad with grief or hatred or bloodlust or perhaps just plain exhaustion. So he reached for her, blinking in shock. To just touch her, once more, before he was killed or the dream was broken. 

“Go!” she yelled, shoving him out of the way as another pirate tried to lunge at him from behind. He turned and gutted the man before he could even think, realizing that she was in danger and he could only protect her. He made sure no other pirates were coming for her then ran for the chest and saw, with some relief, that Jaime was going to meet him there. A gunshot had gone unnoticed in the madness and he saw Hoat, slumped against some treasure and holding a bullet wound to his chest. 

“What now?” he demanded, as Jaime drew his sword. They both grasped it, Sandor grunting as the pain of a split palm went through him. Their blood mingled and dropped on the chest and the air in the cavern seemed to go cold, like all the air had been sucked out. The moonlight retreated and darkness began to fall. 

“Retreat!” Jaime yelled to the men. “Retreat!” 

It took a moment for anyone to understand what Jaime had said and longer still for them to follow the order; Sandor scanned the chaos for Sansa. If he had lost her again, he would kill himself where he stood. But then she was there again, grasping his hand, dragging him towards the opening. Sandor fended off pirates as they came, surprised when Sansa raised a sword to stop another blade. 

The men caught on when they realized the pirates could not pass through the barrier through which they came, but that only turned the pirates more vicious, attempting to slaughter each and every man who tried to pass. Sandor shoved Sansa through, focused only on getting her to safety. He gutted any man who tried to come near them and felt no qualms about pushing past any officer of the royal navy in preference of her. 

With one final heave, they were across the threshold and to safety. He didn’t let go of his grip on her until they were back to the surface, standing on the beach and staring at each other in astonishment. Words failed him; he could only run a hand over her cheek, tears springing into his eyes. 

It was beginning to occur to him that she was real; if she was a tangible thing that he could touch and feel, she had to be alive and not just a vivid hallucination. She took a step towards him, tears brimming in her own eyes. She reached up and her soft hands were sliding over his cheeks and their stubbly growth, before tangling in his hair.

“Little bird,” he whispered and she gave something between a laugh and a sob, pressing herself to him. It occurred to him then that she seemed to be wearing a uniform of the soldiers around them, but he couldn’t imagine why. He chose not to spend time dwelling on it, instead reveling in the fact that she was alive. 

She looked wilder than he remembered; her hair was messier, tangled and lightened by the sun. Her cheeks were similarly sun-kissed, freckles appearing like stars in a night sky across her creamy skin. But her eyes were what had changed the most. The light in them. She was looking at him, full on, beaming. 

He couldn’t remember the last time they’d gazed at each other like this. Not a stolen glance. Not a look from across the street. She wasn’t averting her eyes, ducking her head. She looked right at him and it was the first time he saw true, unabashed joy in them. Happiness radiated off her and for a wild second, he thought he should kiss her. They’d saved each other. Didn’t that mean something?

“Robb,” she said, looking with worry back at the tunnel. He froze, the moment gone, before slowly turning around. Men were staggering out, some carrying their wounded fellows. He tried to have her same sense of worry, but could not, not when she was alright. But all the same, he looked through the men with her, stopping only when he spotted Jaime. 

Still holding onto Sansa, he pulled her along as he went to him, worriedly noting the way Jaime staggered and slumped, leaning against the rock wall and holding his side. After a second, Sansa realized his intent and came willingly, kneeling in front of Jaime and gently pulling his hand away to see what was wrong. A gash, large, but not fatal, oozed blood slowly from a wound across his ribs. 

“You’re alive then.” Jaime was staring at Sansa in dazed shock. His green eyes were glazing over slightly but he managed a slight smile “You’re alive. That’s all worth it then. Someone deserves to have a happy ending out of this, even if I know I never will. That’s lost to me.” he shut his eyes.

“But you regained your honor,” Sandor told him seriously and the look Jaime gave him was gratitude mixed with grief and Sandor understood him completely. 

“You’re not going to die and your happiness is not lost,” Sansa told him firmly, before getting up. She gave Sandor a look he couldn’t quite understand and then was gone again, leaving him to kneel at Jaime’s side, torn with worry between wanting to keep her safe and knowing that Jaime didn’t deserve to die alone. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO may i just always promise that this is a sansan story, yes?

Her heart would not stop beating so fast it was painful. She held a hand to her chest, trying to stop her heart from pounding against her lungs. She had spotted Robb and Jon carrying the wounded to boats, themselves quite unhurt and had promised herself that soon enough she would tell them of her part in all of this. But not right now. She had something more important to do, someone more important to find. 

“Brienne!” she called, when she spotted the familiar build ahead of her. Brienne whirled, sporting a cut on her cheek and a frantic look in her eyes. 

“Jaime,” she called back, running for her, nearly slipping over the wet stones on the beach. “Where is Jaime?” 

“Here, here, here.” Sansa led her to him; Jaime’s eyes were shut in pain but upon hearing Brienne’s voice, opened in shock. Brienne took Sandor’s spot at his side, the larger man hastily scooting out of her way to come back to Sansa. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him, taking his hand to remind herself that he was there and that they were both alright. It also made her forget what was to come. 

“I’m dying,” Jaime said, dazed, as Brienne kissed his knuckles and rubbed his hands, as though to warm him. “This is my death. On this bloody, cursed rock. Oh, I hate this thing. I hate my father.” 

“You’re not going to die, not if I have anything to say about it.” Brienne looked out to the horizon and Sansa followed her gaze, realizing with a sinking heart what was missing. The Pearl was gone and so was any trace of any other ship.

It didn’t take her more than a moment to realize what had happened. Davos and the rest of the crew had taken her suggestion, just not the way she’d wanted them to. They and the Pearl were gone and so were any chances for Sandor, Brienne, and Jaime to make their escape from Theon and the navy.

“Brienne,” she said slowly, softly, but Brienne didn’t seem to notice her. She had turned back to Jaime and was talking to him, lowly, gently stroking his hair. Jaime still seemed to be in shock, but he was staring up at Brienne with a smile, his face utterly content as she held him and tended to his wound. 

“They’ll be hung for piracy when we return,” Sandor said hollowly and Sansa squeezed his hand, trying for some comfort, but hissed when the contact brought forth a wave of pain. She’d picked up a handful of cuts defending herself and trying to get to Sandor. He caught on and gently brought her hands up, so that he could see her hurts. 

“Here. Let me, little bird?” he asked, so softly and tenderly, that she almost cried. 

“Thank you.” she watched as he tore a strip from his clothes and started wrapping it around her sliced hands, avoiding her eyes. She could almost feel the tension radiating off of him and with a heavy heart, knew that the time was coming and this happiness was going to disappear, just like Sandor. 

“You gave Hoat my name as yours. Why?” he tried in vain to sound dismissive, but she knew better. She knew him. 

“I don’t know, I--” her breath caught in her throat as a fresh spark of pain caught her off guard. Sandor looked at her, pained that he was the one causing it, as she winced and pulled away before she could stop herself. 

“I’m sorry. Blacksmith’s hands - I know they’re rough.” his voice caught and her heart broke at the intimacy of this all. She had it right now and she’d never get it again. She was going to lose him. She was going to lose this. And more than freedom, more than an open horizon, she wanted him. 

“No…I mean yes, they are but… but don’t stop.” he’d never touched her so willingly for so long before, not since they were children. She looked at him, trying to read him, trying to understand him in the little time they had left. She wanted to tell him everything, to ask him her questions, but there wasn’t enough time. There was never enough time. But she had to try. “Sandor, I…. I took the medallion from you.

“No, that’s impossible.” his brow furrowed, but his eyes remained shrewd. He had to know she was lying, now testing her to get at the real truth. “I lost it the day they rescued me, it was a gift from my father. He sent it to me.” 

“I took it,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes as he finished wrapping her wound. Still he did not release her, apprehension and hurt in his beautiful grey eyes. He held her there, the two of them seemingly alone in this all. 

“Why did you take it?” he asked her, pain in his voice. 

“Because I was afraid that you were a pirate.” the words had haunted her so long, but now she’d told him. She searched his face, watching as something in his eyes flickered and then turned dark. 

“But it was my blood that closed this place…the blood of a pirate.” he looked up at the rock and she realized, with something that twisted her very soul, that he was the son of a pirate and always would be. And that she still loved him and always would. Being the son of a pirate changed nothing for her; even if he was a pirate, it wouldn’t change a thing. But she’d made her choices. 

“Sandor, I’m so sorry, please forgive me,” she pleaded, for so many things, but he only looked at her. Before she could say anything more, Robb’s voice was behind them, commanding Jaime and Brienne to drop their swords. Sansa stepped back away from Sandor, tears falling now, and stepped towards her brother. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“What were you thinking?” Ned was even more furious than Robb and Jon had been, bellowing at her as the rest of the soldiers were brought aboard. Theon was standing behind him, staring at her in what might have been astonishment, if he were capable of such a thing. “You could have been killed!” 

“I had to save him!” Sansa protested mightily, as Jaime and Brienne were both clapped in irons. “I cannot just sit aside and do nothing while good men - and women - are harmed!” 

“This is completely unbecoming for a Commodore's future wife, Sansa,” Robb told her and she winced, knowing that Sandor had heard him. 

“Theon, please,” she turned her attention to him and begged, no matter how much it hurt her pride, “don’t kill them.” 

“We will be sailing back to Kings Landing in moments,” Theon replied without even looking at her, instead inspecting the men coming aboard. “The men need aid and these pirates need the gallows.” 

“Theon.” she wanted to crumple to the ground. “Theon, please, if it is all that I ask….” 

“You have asked that we rescue the young Mr. Clegane.” Theon’s gaze flickered to him then back to her, his lips pursing ever so slightly. “That has been done. The pirates have been cast back and down, which he aided mightily in. And for that reason, for you Sansa, I will not condemn him as well. But I cannot allow for piracy. I must not.” with nothing more than a nod of his head, he disappeared to the back of the ship. 

“Sansa, come with me,” her father ordered, taking her elbow but Sansa spun, looking desperately at them. Jaime, eyes hazy with pain, gave her the tiniest of bows, Brienne gave her a nod, and Sandor said nothing at all, staring at her with a quiet blank look that broke her heart more than anything else. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then she was pulled bodily away by both Jon and Robb, to be locked in the captain’s quarters for the remainder of the trip with a guard to watch her at all times. 

A bird in her cage. 

* * *

Sandor stood outside the dark cell, staring in. Jaime was laying on the bench while Brienne sat on the floor, a bit of thread between her teeth as she worked to stitch him up. Neither of them seemed aware of his presence until Brienne paused during the rolling of the ship to observe aloud, 

“I thought Sansa was exaggerating your height when she spoke of it. It’s not often I meet a man who can look me in the eye without jumping.” 

“I never jump,” Jaime muttered without opening his eyes. “I hop. There’s a difference.” 

“She spoke of me?” Sandor’s heart was broken, but these words were like a little bit of a balm. To know that Sansa did care for him, despite the fact that she was now engaged to another. Even if it was for him.

“She never shut up about you.” Brienne knotted off the thread, ignoring Jaime’s grunt. “Two days on an island alone with her and you were all she ever spoke of. Finding you. Saving you. Getting back to you. It may have been annoying, except for my principal objective being the same for Jaime.” 

“She is to marry Commodore Greyjoy,” he said hesitantly and Brienne looked up at him, a rueful smile on her lips. 

“To save you. She is nothing if not a woman of her word.” she looked at Jaime then, who flinched as he sat up. “And we are to swing from the gallows.” 

“The crew came and stole the Pearl,” Sandor remarked to Jaime. “Why? Why did they not stay and fight?” 

“Why should they?” Jaime stood and took a few steps, Brienne watching him carefully. Concern was apparent in her blue eyes. “They were owed a ship and the Pearl is the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Now that Hoat and his men are trapped for all of eternity in that godforsaken rock, the plunder of the seas awaits them. I cannot begrudge them for doing exactly as I had might. Though I hope it vexes Greyjoy, that it was stolen out from under his very nose.” 

“They left you.” Sandor couldn’t understand it. 

“A pirate keeps to the code.” Jaime looked at him, the green eyes uncanny in this light. “You should learn it if you’re to be one.” 

“I have a pardon. I am no pirate,” Sandor said lowly and Jaime turned to Brienne, going to sit beside her. Sandor didn’t miss, with a twinge of pain, the way Brienne rubbed his shoulder as he did so, carefully minding his wound. The affection there. The kind he'd had for only a moment and then lost. 

“Pirate you may not be, Sandor Clegane, but you’re no longer just a blacksmith. Make your choice.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“You’ve changed.” Arya’s voice came from the doorway. Sansa looked up with a startled smile; Ned had forbidden any visitors since she’d arrived home. She’d been able to greet her siblings in the hall when she’d gotten home, embracing a crying Bran and a timid Rickon. Arya had allowed her a brief touch but then had disappeared. Sansa hadn’t expected her to come to see her. 

“How did you get in here?” she asked, before she could stop herself. It was the biggest question. Sansa hadn’t been able to get out, despite trying a few times. 

“Jory.” Arya held up a tray with two teacups on it. “I told him you weren’t feeling well and that I would take up tea.” 

“And the guards at my door?” 

“They have heard the rumors, that you and I don’t speak.” she set the tray down and Sansa automatically began pouring them, one for herself and one for Arya. 

“That’s not true,” she remarked tiredly and Arya took the teacup. 

“They don’t need to know that,” she remarked and Sansa smiled at her. Arya gave her a brief smile back, then turned her attention to Sansa’s desk and the letter now drying. “You’re still writing to try and save them.” 

“Yes.” Sansa folded the letter and set it aside. 

“Robb said he hasn’t gone a day without getting a plea.” Arya was watching her. 

“It’s my attempt to get him to read,” Sansa tried to joke and Arya took a sip of the tea. 

“Why?” 

“Because Robb never was one for education and he’d benefit from the practice. And there’s nothing else for me to do here.” 

“Why are you trying to save them?” Arya corrected, slightly exasperated. Sansa drank her own tea in an attempt to avoid the question, but Arya kept watching her until Sansa sighed and set the cup down. 

“They don’t deserve to die.” she felt like that was all she said these days, just repeating herself over and over again, until she’d screamed herself hoarse to those who did not care to ever hear her. 

“There were pirates who killed people.” Arya’s eyes narrowed. “Pirates you sacrificed yourself to save us from.” 

“Those pirates are dead,” Sansa assured her. 

“And these pirates--” she gestured to the letter “--wouldn’t kill us?” 

“No.” Sansa shook her head. “No, Jaime would rather outwit you than kill you. And Brienne doesn’t care to kill, unless it’s in defense.” 

“Just like the pirates from your stories,” Arya observed, rather coldly and Sansa sat back, trying to figure out how to answer that. 

“I can see why you might think that,” she started carefully. “But I’m not romanticizing this Arya. I’m not the girl that I once was. I’ve seen death. I’ve feared for my life. I’ve thought that I was going to die, alone, and no one would ever know. I accepted that I would never see my family again. Being a pirate isn’t some story with a happy ending. But Jaime and Brienne are closer to the pirates from my story than any others. And they don’t deserve a common death.” 

“So you agreed to marry Theon to save Sandor but couldn’t save them?” Arya’s voice was cutting and Sansa froze, still reaching for her cup. The mention of Sandor broke her heart. She quite thought it always would. She could only nod, lifting the cup to her lips and trying not to tremble. 

“Yes,” she whispered finally, when she trusted herself to speak without crying. 

“Was it worth it?” Arya had softened but Sansa couldn’t bring herself to look at her. If she did, Arya would know everything. 

“It has to be.” 

“But you’ve changed,” Arya repeated and Sansa looked down ruefully at her hands. They were tanned brown, something that marked her as a common girl. “You want something different now. Not marriage to Theon.” 

“I never wanted the marriage to Theon,” she stated quietly and Arya titled her head. 

“But once you might’ve accepted it. Not anymore. Why not?” 

“Theon is a good man,” Sansa parroted her reasoning, but Arya knew her better than that. She shook her head. 

“You always wanted a fine adventure Sansa. Now you’ve had one.” Arya surprised her by reaching over and taking her hand. “What do you want now?” 

“Much what I imagine you want.” she gave her a sad smile. “I tasted freedom. I don’t know how to give it up now.” 

“Now you’re speaking like you’d want to be a pirate.” surprise crossed Arya’s face. “Do you?” 

“Arya.” Sansa leaned forward to touch her sister’s cheek. “I can only be who I am. And that’s Theon Greyjoy’s wife. And it would kill me to wonder if I can be anything else.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The cell was dark and dank, and Sansa resisted the urge to lift her hand to her nose to block out the smell. As it were, she had to worry about stepping in the filth. It occurred to her as she carefully navigated through the prison that it would’ve been more prudent to wear the boots and breeches of a man, but she was barely allowed out of the house on this one paltry request. Raiding her brother’s wardrobe was certainly against her father’s rules. 

“Sansa.” Brienne spotted her first, getting up off the bench of her cell. Jaime was across from her and he too rose, coming to stand before her. “Do you have news? Are we free?” 

“No.” Sansa couldn’t bear the look of crushed hope on Brienne’s face. “But I promise you, I am working with my father to stop this. He’ll see reason.” she’d been trying, ever since they returned to Kings Landing, to find any reason that Brienne and Jaime should go free. It’d fallen completely on deaf ears the entire time, as she in turn tried to reason with Robb, Jon, Theon, and her father. 

“He won’t,” Jaime told her hollowly, going to sit back down. “We’re pirates, and we’re condemned to death.” 

“But you were good to me,” she was only repeating the argument she had with her father and Theon near daily. “Jaime, you saved my life. Brienne, you kept me safe. That has to count for something. I’m trying to make it count. I just... Need more time.” 

“Thank you Sansa, but there’s no need to plead with us.” Brienne was watching Jaime, love written all across her face. It made Sansa’s heart ache. “We’ve made our peace. At least when the hangman’s noose comes for us, it will be together rather than apart. That’s all I can ask for, anymore.” 

“Small mercies,” remarked Jaime with a supremely cavalier attitude and the corners of Brienne’s mouth twitched. 

“You won’t die.” Sansa said firmly. “I won’t allow it. Yours is the grandest love story ever told, and I simply won’t allow it to end here.” 

“Sansa, what more could you do?” Brienne pointed out. “You saved Sandor. Let that be enough.” 

“No.” Sansa shook out her skirts and gave them both serious looks, so that they could tell how much she meant this. “They will change their minds, and I will see you to freedom. You’ll go back to the seas, and I will stay here as a wife, and you will have to be the ones to spread stories of a brave governor's daughter who saved pirates when she could.” she hadn’t realized until the end that a note of longing had slipped into her voice. Brienne’s smile was a sad thing, as she reached through the bars and took Sansa’s hands. 

“Do the best you can,” she said softly and Sansa nodded, before she turned and strode away as the guards came to do their rounds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay! yelling in the comments! yes!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i know i say this every chapter. but this is the favorite. 
> 
> if this were a movie (which it was, since i borrowed so much from potc) this would be the final scene. which means that chapter 13 is a bonus chapter, aka a mid-credits scene. 
> 
> so enjoy the (sorta) finale!!

The official stood on the deck, reading out the list of charges in a loud, clear voice. “Jaime Lannister, be it known that you have…”

“Captain, Captain Jaime Lannister,” Jaime muttered, with an eye roll. 

“…for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature, the most egregious of these to be cited herewith – piracy, smuggling…”

“This is wrong.” Sansa twisted the ring that Theon had gotten her nervously on her finger. Neither her fiance nor father would look at her at all; the only one who would was Jon, who kept glancing at her as though he half expected that she’d steal a sword and threaten them all. She had a mind to do so. 

“Commodore Greyjoy is bound by the law. As are we all,” her father replied through clenched teeth. The day was warm, the hanging early in the morning to avoid the sweltering afternoon heat. But it wasn’t the weather that was setting Sansa on edge, it was the fact that still, she was going to be forced to watch the death of two good people. 

“…impersonating an officer of the Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of Westeros, sailing under false colors, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation, and general lawlessness. And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your souls.” the official finished and Sansa’s heart clenched in pity as the official began to read out Brienne’s charges, much shorter but no less noteworthy. 

She froze when she saw Sandor pushing his way through the crowd. He looked so different; he was wearing clothes more fit for a pirate than a blacksmith. A cape, a rather ridiculous hat. But he carried himself differently now; shoulders back and wide, purposeful in his stride.

Her heart was thudding, painfully out of rhythm at the sight of him, especially when he came before them and bowed, his eyes never leaving hers. She could hardly breathe, unsure what to say to him in this moment, except to wildly think that she wanted to explain to him that Brienne thought she had the makings of a pirate too. 

“Governor Stark. Commodore.” despite the formal greeting, he didn’t bother to acknowledge them, instead taking a half step forward towards her. Sansa wanted to reach out, but the weight of the ring sat heavy on her finger. Her freedom for his life. That was the deal. She would upkeep it and he would be safe. 

“Clegane,” Theon said warningly but still Sandor didn’t look away from her. His grey eyes were so beautiful, shining with soft tenderness in this light. She almost needed to look away, lest the love she saw there convince her to ruin everything just to touch him. 

“Little bird.” there was something so intense in his face, she felt like the air around her was getting sucked away as she looked at him. “I should have told you every day from the moment I met you. I love you.” he stared at her for a long moment while his words sank in, then abruptly turned and walked away before she had time to even think of a response. Sansa’s heart seemed to leave her and follow him away from her. She tried to swallow but failed and lifted her eyes skyward to stop herself from crying when she spotted it. 

The rainbow parrot of Ilyn Payne.

The plan occurred to her in an instant - Sandor. Jaime. Pirates. The Pearl. The hanging. She had to do something and she had to do it quickly, so she reached for her father’s arm. 

“I can’t breathe,” she gasped, and fell backwards as the drum beats intensified. 

Sansa!” both her father and Theon knelt over her in concern but the second the drums stopped beating she sat up, desperate to know what had happened. The crowd was in a panic and Jaime and Brienne had dropped from sight, but she saw a flash of steel and knew. Sandor. She couldn’t help the tiny smile that grew; her father frowned and followed her gaze before spotting what she had and glaring at her. 

“Men! With me!” Theon was already swinging into action, drawing his sword and men around him and charging after. Sansa scrambled to her feet, ignoring the protests and admonishments of her father. She tried to follow the action but it seemed impossible; she ended up charging up the steps of the fort to the highest tower behind the cluster of men. Her father shouted at her from behind her, but she refused to look back.

Theon had cornered Jaime, Brienne, and Sandor against the edge of the fort walls. Jaime had Brienne behind him, shoulder to shoulder with Sandor. Sansa skidded to a halt at Theon’s side, desperately trying to think of a way out for them. All three had swords raised, even Sandor, and pointed at the men. 

“I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt but not from you,” Theon told Sandor coldly, who didn’t budge. 

“On our return to Kings Landing, I granted you clemency. And this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him? He’s a pirate!” Sansa’s father was behind her, enraged. Sandor looked at Sansa, and she knew his unspoken question. 

He was a pirate. And was that enough? 

She gave him a tiny nod. There was more there, more to be said and explained, but this would have to do for now. She saw his tiny smile, the smallest dip of his head and with a thrill in her heart, knew that she’d been understood. Of course she had, he always understood her. That was what love was then. 

“And a good man,” Sandor stated loudly, turning his focus back onto the men. “If all I have achieved here is that the hangman will earn three pairs of boots instead of two, so be it. At least my conscience will be clear.” 

“You forget your place, Clegane,” Theon spat, almost white with rage. Sansa nearly reached for him but stopped. She’d likely only make it worse. 

“It’s right here…between you and Jaime,” Sandor replied, just as coolly and Sansa’s heart stopped entirely. 

That was his place. He was no longer a blacksmith. That had never been his destiny, only a moment before he accepted his real one. The son of a pirate, who stole treasure and rescued her and loved her almost as much as she loved him. That was his place and he was telling everyone, including her.

She was moving before she could even think about and certainly before she could stop herself. She slipped between the bayonets and went to grab Sandor’s hand tightly. She didn’t look at his face, for fear of seeing him alarmed or concerned at her being there. But he’d made his choice and now she’d made hers. 

“As is mine,” she said boldly and watched with only the slightest twinge of guilt as her father’s face flashed horror, anger, sadness, and finally resignation. 

“Lower your weapons,” he commanded the men and when they hesitated, bellowed, “for goodness’ sake put them down!” all around them, blades dropped, albeit slowly. 

"So this is where your heart truly lies, then?” Theon’s face was unreadable, but Sansa knew him. His cool grey eyes, his mask of impassivity. He was a good man, deep down. She knew that he was likely just as disappointed as her father. But she could not bring herself to care enough to walk away.

“It is,” she said softly. She willed him to understand. They would both be happier like this, if only he could see that. 

“Well! I’m actually feeling rather good about this.” Jaime clapped his hands behind them, breaking the spell. “I think we've all arrived at a very special place, eh? Spiritually… Ecumenically… Grammatically?” he pulled Brienne away from the guns, turning to Theon. “I want you to know that I was rooting for you, mate. Know that.” he turned to Sansa. “Now we’re square. Sandor…” he struggled for a moment then shrugged. “Nice hat.” he began backing up, taking Brienne with him. “Friends! This is the day that you will always remember as the day that –” he abruptly fell from view, Brienne tumbling after him. 

“Idiot. He has nowhere to go but back to the noose,” Robb scoffed and Sansa had to bite back her smile.

“Sail ho!” yelled a sentry above them and they all looked to a bay, where a ship could be seen between the cliffs. Sansa knew that it was the Pearl and turned to look back to Theon, pleading silently. He watched her for a moment. She couldn’t ask him for anything more, not now. But perhaps he might, for the sake of the love he had for her.

“What’s your plan of action? Sir?” demanded Robb and Theon glanced at Ned, who was watching Sansa and Sandor sadly. 

“Perhaps on the rare occasion, pursuing the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course?” Ned suggested carefully and Theon turned back to them, stepping up to Sandor and drawing his sword. Sansa was about to step protectively in front of him, when Sandor gave her hand a squeeze. 

“Mr. Clegane,” Theon spoke loudly and Sandor bent down, his breath tickling her ear, making her shiver pleasantly. 

“I will accept the consequences of my actions.” he stepped forward to face Theon, back straight and proud. 

“This is a beautiful sword.” Theon held it to Sandor’s chest, then gave it a little spin so it glinted in the sunlight. “I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life.”

“Thank you.” Sandor bowed his head in acknowledgement and Sansa’s heart warmed. Theon did love her. And she loved him, same as she loved Bran and Jon and Arya. 

“Commodore! What about Lannister?” asked Jon and Theon put the sword away, striding past them without a backwards glance. 

“Well, I think we can afford to give him one day’s head start.” then he was gone and took the men with him, including Robb and Jon, who both looked ready to open their mouths and start yelling. Ned remained, quietly gazing up at them as Sansa took Sandor’s hand again and felt his warmth at her side. 

“So, this is the path you’ve chosen, is it? After all…he is a blacksmith,” Ned reminded her sadly and Sansa smiled, reaching up to take off Sandor’s hat. He smiled down at her, the same kind grey eyes from the boy she’d fallen in love with so long ago.

“No. He’s a pirate.” she smiled and he closed his eyes, leaning forward to press his forehead to hers. 

“I cannot let you stay,” Ned told her solemnly. “This will bring shame enough, and I can’t have you ruining the prospects of your siblings.” 

“I know.” Sansa bowed her head slightly, but didn’t say much else. She didn’t have to. She loved her family and her father, but she had tasted freedom, and Sandor, and she would never be content otherwise. “But father….” 

“Yes?” for a second, Ned looked hopeful and Sansa almost hated to tell him, but she did. 

“I’ll come back for them one day you know.” she watched his face, so that she could see that he understood her and who she meant to them. She had raised her siblings. She would do anything for them. She saw as his eyebrows furrowed, then softened and sadness began to set in.

“I know.” he bowed his head and walked away, pausing once to look back to her, but Sansa was already staring deep into Sandor’s eyes. Those eyes she knew so well and were finally looking down at her with all the love and devotion she’d always known had been there. Now he was finally allowed to show her just how he felt. 

There would be time for them to tell each other of their adventures. How they saved the other, risked everything, and how it brought them here. But all she wanted to do right now was run her fingers through his hair and revel in the fact that she could. 

“I can’t promise it’ll be easy.” he gently touched her cheek. There was a vulnerability there, the hesitation of a boy who’d been told he’d never be good enough for her. But she wasn’t a governor's daughter anymore and he wasn’t an orphaned blacksmith. They were both pirates now.

“As long as it’s with you.” she stretched up to press their lips together. His lips were soft, his burned side twitching slightly until he deepened the kiss, hand going to the small of her waist and pulling her close to him. Sansa didn’t think about her future then; only this moment with Sandor.

* * *

  
  


“So.” Brienne watched them come up the ladder, a smug smile on her face. “How’d you know we’d be saved?” 

“Saved?” Sansa gave her an innocent look while Sandor pulled her up. He gave her a harder tug than necessary so she’d crash into his chest, but he knew she didn’t mind based on the way she lingered there. “No, I had no part in this plan. I just know Sandor. And his heart.” she gazed up at him with a smile and he saw no reason not to bend down and kiss her. 

“Alright, enough of that,” declared Jaime. “He didn’t allow us to die, but he’s still a right old scallywag like the rest of you.” 

“So what will you do now?” Brienne asked Sansa, and seemed unsurprised when Sansa began shedding her ornate gown. Sandor worked to keep his face neutral during this turn of events, but failed. 

“I believe you are in possession of a certain flagship formerly christened the Interceptor,” Sansa said briskly. “We are going to commandeer it and rename it Lady, since by all rights and laws it was taken by a one Sandor Clegane and is his.” 

“And sail who’s colors?” Brienne asked her and Sansa looked up at Sandor, then glanced up at the Jolly Roger, flapping above them. 

“Pirates, of course.” 

It took them a week to get it all straightened, and then a week after to get their crew. Davos graciously decided to sail with them, making sure they knew what they were doing, and so Sansa stood at the rail of her ship, gazing out at where the stars and night sky met the water. He joined her silently.

“Where to then?” he asked her quietly and she smiled back at him, leaning so that her head rested on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, reflecting that this was something he never dared dream about and now he could kiss her whenever he wanted. 

“Wherever,” she said simply. “There isn’t an end to this story Sandor.” 

“It’s not one of those that you use to read as a little girl on the crossing?” he gave her a little squeeze and she laughed, turning around to give him a sly grin before twining her arms around his neck and stretching up to give him a long, slow kiss that made him want to pull her right off the deck. 

“Ours is far, far better,” she told him cheekily, “and there’s not a girl alive who wouldn’t swoon to hear it. We are the stuff of legends, Sandor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friends. the love. the support. the blessings. thank you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zee end. 
> 
> thank you all so much for coming along on this ride with me. as always, the love and support means the actual world. please, enjoy!!

Rickon stood at the end of the dock, craning his neck and trying to see. The full moon lit up the bay as well as any lamp might, so it was not difficulty seeing that prompted this from him, but nerves. The rucksack, hastily filled with his few prized possessions, bumped against his back as he swayed forward and backwards, then stopped abruptly when he realized it made the dock creak mightily. 

He’d gotten the letter only a few weeks ago. Hardly enough time to pack, but it might have been for the better. Less time for their father to realize that something was wrong, though Ned Stark was still busy as governor, and he’d long ago sent away the tutors and governesses. Rickon had slipped away so easily tonight, he still expected to be caught and sent back for a spanking like he was a child again. 

He wasn’t. He was a boy of 16, eager and ready to make his place in the world. But it wasn’t his father’s world he wanted a place in; he had Robb and Jon and Bran for that. Rickon wanted something else. He wanted adventure. And that was why when he received the letter, telling him what dock to wait on at the next full moon, he hadn’t given it more than a second thought. 

The crack between the two cliffs still didn’t show anything, and his hope was starting to sink as he heard the bell at the fort, signaling the change of guards and also the time. It was the dead of night. Perhaps he had been forgotten. Perhaps they wouldn’t come at all, and he would have to trudge back to the mansion, pretending that he’d spent the night down at the tavern. He’d watch the disappointment creep back into his father’s eyes, at the last son who struggled to read and write, who couldn’t follow orders, and who was always looking out to sea. 

“Boy!” a harsh whisper startled him; he turned and reached for the sword he’d taken from the mansion. Fighting was one thing he was good at, but he didn’t want to show that hand quite yet. Coming down the docks were two figures, but not dressed in the gold and red uniforms of the officers from the fort. They wore boots and breeches with darned holes in them, and loose shirts with black scarves wrapped around their heads. 

Pirates. 

“Are you Rickon?” the one asked him and after a second, Rickon slid his sword back into its sheath. 

“Aye,” he answered, with a voice that only trembled a little. 

“C’mon then.” both men turned back down the dock and Rickon looked around, a little bewildered, at the water. 

“But,” he started to protest, when the taller pirate turned around again. He had a glass eye, carved and painted to look quite like the real thing, but fake nonetheless. 

“You want to stay, stay,” he commanded, “but we’s got a tight schedule, and it’s our hides if we’re late.” 

“Where’s the boat?” Rickon asked as he jogged alongside them, trying to keep up. Glass eye glanced back with a glare and Rickon took this as a sign to shut the hell up. He followed, occasionally having to duck and dodge the branches as the pirates led him deeper into the jungle. Every so often they would abruptly stop and wait, never for the same length of time or at any seemingly pre-determined spots. Rickon wasn’t even sure they were walking on a trail anymore. 

He was just beginning to become sure that he was being led onto his death when they suddenly stepped into a clearing. Ahead of them was a tiny lagoon and yanked onto the beach was a rowboat. Rickon was unceremoniously made to sit in the middle while the two pirates rowed, silently, out of the lagoon and into the harbor, though they were now further down the beach and well concealed from the fort, should any guard be high on the walls and looking for a rowboat to be rowing away from the town, not towards.

Rickon watched his home glide away from him on two quiet paddles, growing smaller and smaller in the moonlight. He willed himself to feel some sort of hurt, or anger, or any feeling, but he couldn’t muster it up in himself. His best memories of home were when he was crammed into a ship’s hold with his siblings, not separated out in some mansion. Jon and Robb left so early, and then Sansa. Arya had run off with a boy before she was even his age, and Bran was always off at schooling. The only regret he had was for his father, but Ned would know why he’d done it. Miss him, perhaps, but understand too. 

He held his breath as they passed between the cliffs; he knew his father occasionally sent patrols up that way, but it was harder to get to during the rainy season when the jungle was able to swallow a man whole. They eased through, unseen, and when they turned and rounded a bend in the shoreline, she spread before him. 

The Lady. 

As notorious a ship as he’d ever known, the stuff of myth and legends. Crewed by ghosts and wolves, captained by a fearsome warrior who could change into a bat and fly into the night before being caught. Scourge of the seas and of the empire, reigning death and destruction down onto those who she caught. 

In the moonlight, Rickon could see the colors she was flying. A red flag, with the black skull of a wolf on it. 

The little boat slipped seamlessly alongside Lady, and after a moment of jostling, Rickon had the ladder in his hands and was climbing up. His heart pounded, and again it was not from the exertion, but the nerves. Twice he nearly slipped, but then steadied himself and climbed onward. He was not some green boy, young as he was. He’d sailed plenty of times before. But never on a pirate ship. 

He brought himself over the rail and onto the deck. There, standing in silence amidst the moonlight, was the crew. He froze, looking out amongst the faces, trying to judge what the reactions might be. Most of them were impassive, but a few seemed curious. None looked downright malicious, so he straightened himself up. The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck brought his attention to the figure walking down the stairs from the wheel. 

Sandor had always seemed so tall in Rickon’s memories, the giant of a man compared to a boy. He had always thought that was because he himself had been so small, but now he realized it was still true; Sandor was so large, he could nearly blot out the moon. He walked towards Rickon, expression neutral. He was dressed in mostly black as well, but his long, dark hair was tied back by a yellow scarf. He kept his gaze on Rickon, who wasn’t sure if he should bow, curtsey, draw his sword, or jump straight back into the water. 

“Rickon.” the voice was still as deep and gravelly as Rickon remembered, the sound of steel on stone. He’d tagged along with his brothers to the blacksmith more than once, and he had memories of Sandor. 

“Mr. Clegane.” he was aware that his voice cracked, ever so slightly. He winched, but Sandor didn’t mock him. If anything, he smiled slightly before he turned and opened the doors to the captain’s quarters. Rickon’s breath hitched, just for a moment. 

A figure emerged from the dark, tiny and compact compared to Sandor. Boots, tight to the calves. Breeches, held up by a belt that housed a sword, pistol, compass, spyglass, and more. Shirt and vest, and long hair undone and unbound. It blew back, ever so gently in the breeze and Rickon felt tears spring to his eyes. 

“Rickon.” Sansa’s blue eyes seemed to hold tears as well, and the second he took a stumbling step forward, she rushed for him and caught him in a tight hug. He held onto his sister and tried to control himself in front of the crew. Sansa held him close, and she kept squeezing as though she couldn’t quite believe he was real. 

“It’s true then?” he leaned back to look at her. Older than he remembered, with lines and tanned skin that delicate, precious Sansa never would’ve once allowed. Jewelry around her neck, and a charm woven into her hair at the end of a braid. Rings, nearly on every finger. But still that same kind, smiling face that he’d known for his whole life. He knew her face better than he did his mother’s. 

“Some stories, certainly.” Sansa couldn’t stop smiling, or touching his face and hair. “And time to tell them all, I promise. But first we need to leave. Does father still send those patrols to the cliffs?” 

“We have had too much rain for them to do so lately,” he told her and Sansa’s face split into a wide grin. 

“Told you so,” she said cheekily to Sandor, who gave a slight tilt of his head in response. 

“Don’t gloat little bird, it’s unseemly.” 

“Even so.” Sansa took Rickon’s hand. “We will be off, before Father sends the entire armada to fetch Rickon.” 

“Aye, cap’n.” Sandor’s eyes were only soft when he looked at Sansa. “I’ll get us underway.” 

“Thank you.” Sansa’s hand rested on his wrist for just a moment, before she tugged Rickon into her quarters and Sandor bellowed orders at the crew. Rickon watched, for just a moment, as the entire ship sprang to life and the sails were unfurled and lines snapped into place. Then he was brought into the cabin, where Sansa pulled him into a hug yet again. 

“Am I to stay then?” he asked her, voicing the one fear he had. Sansa’s smile wobbled, ever so slightly, and she patted his cheek. 

“Rickon, I made you the same offer I made all of our siblings. I will let you lead whatever life you want, and I will do all in my power to bring you safely to it.” 

“You offered this to Bran and Arya?” he was a little hurt that he wasn’t as special as he had hoped to have been. 

“Of sorts.” Sansa’s blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight as she sat him down at a small table, spread with maps held in place by daggers. “Bran declined, as I knew he would. And Arya had her own ideas, as I knew she would.” 

“Will I see her?” he asked, before he could help himself and Sansa tweaked his jaw lightly. 

“Three days at sea, perhaps four. She’ll meet us before we reach Tortuga. We couldn’t both risk coming, you see.” 

“She’s a pirate?” Rickon’s head was spinning. 

“Much smaller ship, but of course, she prefers it that way.” this fact seemed to amuse Sansa. “But, yes. And is this the life you want as well, my brother?” 

“I don’t know,” he told her honestly, “but I could not live with the one father asked of me.” 

“Me neither.” Sansa gave his hand another squeeze before gesturing down to the maps. “Take a good long look. This is our life. Where Sandor and I go, you’ll go. And our fights will be your fights. Our fortune, and misfortune as well. Until you decide on a different path. And I cannot promise you safety on this one.” 

“But it makes you happy,” he replied, staring at her in wonder. He could see how different this Sansa was. His sister was free. 

“Happier than I’ve ever been,” she confirmed and then looked up when Sandor walked in. 

“We’ll be well away before the sun rises,” he told her and Sansa crossed the room in a few strides, hugging him tightly. Rickon couldn’t resist making a little face as Sansa kissed Sandor and then he gently set her down. 

“Rickon is going to come with us,” she revealed and it was easy to hear the happiness in her voice. 

“Good man.” Sandor gave him a curt nod, but Rickon felt it was higher praise than had ever been bestowed upon him before. He straightened up, suddenly aware of what he’d done. The life he’d chosen to lead. 

“It will still be a few days to Tortuga,” Sansa told him, “but you are welcome to stay in here if you’d like.” 

“I should stay with the crew,” he said suddenly. “If that’s what I’m to be.” 

“You’re no cabin boy, so don’t let them treat you like one,” Sansa ordered. “And we will get you everything you’ll need in Tortuga, and then you can meet Amada.” 

“Amada?” Rickon blinked, wondering if he’d escaped the rumors of one arranged marriage only to step into the trap of another. Sansa looked up at Sandor, beaming, before she turned back to Rickon. 

“Our daughter,” Sandor explained gruffly and Sansa clasped her hands, smiling. 

“You have a niece. She’s 4 and she is as sweet as a peach. Stubborn as her father.” 

“Pretty as her mother,” retorted Sandor and Sansa tossed Rickon a photo. There, etched, was a solemn little girl, with pretty features and long hair. She even looked like him, he thought with wonder. 

“Tortuga, and Amada.” he looked between his sister and Sandor, feeling like every nerve in his body was buzzing with energy. “Then where?” 

“The world is ours for the taking.” Sansa arched one eyebrow, handing him a flask. “Drink up, Rickon.” 

“Yo ho,” he replied, and drank deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts thoughts thoughts? reviews reviews reviews? 
> 
> again, all my thanks! another one complete!


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